Valor
by LaughingTiger
Summary: Shepard is the Alliance's rising star. In a bid to increase her chances of being accepted as a Spectre candidate, she's been made an emeritus C-Sec officer. Her partner's suspicion won't get in the way of her hidden agenda. (Full summary precedes CH 1) (Darkfic, trigger-happy, multiple pairings. F/F, F/M, AU, pre-ME1 through ME3) Paragon*, Sentinel*, Spacer, War Hero/Ruthless
1. Collateral

Full Summary:

Celebrated as the Hero of the Blitz, and the Victor of Torfan, Shepard is the Alliance's rising star. In a bid to increase her chances of being accepted by the Council as a Spectre candidate, her superiors have called in favors and had her assigned as an emeritus C-Sec officer. Unaware of the motives behind her post, Shepard makes the best of the situation, but her partner in Investigations, Garrus Vakarian, can't bring himself to trust her. Shepard senses the threat, but she has a hidden agenda that is far more important than managing one suspicious turian. (Darkfic, trigger-happy, multiple pairings. F/F, F/M, AU)

Paragon*, Sentinel*, Spacer, War Hero/Ruthless

* * *

Blood dripped down her back, slowly sliding along her spine before soaking into the fabric of her dress. Her arm throbbed and she suspected a broken bone. Carefully curling the fingers of her left hand nearly tore a cry of pain from her lips. _Just what I need,_ Shepard acidly thought, resisting the urge to kick the dying man at her feet. She checked her temper. Cruelty at this point was beneath her. The turian's blue blood spread slowly across the floor, mostly away from her, thankfully. Instead of lashing out, she stepped back and watched him struggle weakly as he choked on his own blood.

This time, her target had put up a fight and he had almost bested her. He still might prove to finish her off if she wasn't careful and clever. She was certain no one had been alerted electronically, and the struggle would have sounded identical to what they were doing half an hour earlier– not that she believed anyone had been listening. As he feebly tried and failed to roll away from her, she wondered if it was bad luck or sloppiness on her part that he had turned around just as she was about to bury her knife under his cowl and into his unprotected neck.

As she watched, he stopped moving, and she dismissed the thought. Either way, she would need to clean his talons and make certain there was none of her blood anywhere else in the room. At least he had just taken a shower and washed away any other indication of her presence. Prints and DNA didn't actually matter– she had long ago ensured that any evidence sample run through C-sec databases that turned up as a match for hers would be incorrectly flagged– but the knife would indicate an asari assailant, and human DNA, even without a hit in the database, would expose that bit of misdirection and provoke a deeper investigation.

It hadn't been easy to get her hands on that particular blade. It belonged to an asari commando who had been deemed mentally unstable and relieved of duty. Within a day, she had broken out of custody, killing a C-sec officer and wounding two others. All three of the woman's bond mates over the years had been turians as well, so no one would question her interest in another one. It would be an unthinkable waste of good cover to allow the forensics team to find a scrap of human DNA on Avitus or in the room.

Shepard donned her jacket, gritting her teeth as she pushed her injured arm through the sleeve, then she zipped it halfway and carefully tucked her left hand close to her body. It was a shoddy sling, but it would do. She couldn't take anything from the hotel room or it would be missed, and she didn't want anything to tie her to this place anyway. Soon, she would be producing answers for a C-sec officer, in the hospital if she was lucky. There would be a lot of questions, but if she did this right, not a single one would refer to a murdered turian.

Shepard got to work. First, she made certain Avitus was dead with a quick scan from her omni-tool. She knelt carefully, avoiding the blood, and reached out to snag his wrist. A quick spritz from a small perfume bottle that contained a very special mixture that was anything but ordinary perfume took care of the traces of her blood on his dulled talons, and an additional half-dozen pumps finished the job. The substance might raise suspicions, but it was easier and more reliable than trying to wipe every trace of blood away.

The levo-dextro reaction was enough to make getting a clean sample next to impossible when turian and human blood mixed, but the microbes in the bottle completely deconstructed any aminos they came into contact with and reconfigured them into a structure they could use for fuel. In half an hour, there would be no chance of even the best forensics team finding a trace of her in the room. In seven hours– the soonest she expected Avitus would be missed– the teams would have to use a tissue sample, not a blood swab, to identify him with DNA, and the microbes would probably have mostly eaten themselves out and died off, reducing the likelihood of unintentional contamination.

By the time she left, she was beginning to feel light-headed. A bad sign, especially since there was still so much to do and it was probably either a concussion or shock from the broken bone. She couldn't let it overwhelm her yet, the consequences if she didn't finish cleaning up first would be disastrous– not just for her, but for all of humanity. The thought brought some clarity and bolstered her determination. Avitus had really knocked her around before she got the stasis field on him, but she'd planned for the worst, and it wouldn't take much to get everything back under control. It wouldn't have been a problem at all if she didn't need medical attention. _Unquestioned_ medical attention. She made a mental note to seek out a doctor who could be bribed to work under the table in future situations. Her current contingency plan to get herself to the hospital was expensive and extreme.

She turned to leave, and stuck her hand in her pocket, seeking the keys to her vehicle. Instead, she found the perfume bottle, and with a start, she realized she hadn't neutralized its contents, yet. Normally, she wouldn't need to destroy such a useful tool, and the expense of replacing it made her consider stashing it somewhere to retrieve later, but that was the kind of thinking that would get her caught. She sighed and set the bottle down so she could use her omni-tool's flashlight. Having only one good hand made it difficult to adjust the light's settings to an anti-microbial lamp to sterilize the perfume, but it only took a moment, then the perfume went back into her pocket, now devoid of the very useful microbes, and only slightly chemically distinct from any other bottle of scent that bore the same label.

As she left the room, she ran the pre-loaded program to destroy surveillance footage from the building and parking dock that would identify her. With a sigh of relief, she finally she got into her car and set the destination– a club in the lower wards that was a known recruiting ground for the Blue Suns– and once she was a block away, she reached under the passenger seat. The unsealed evidence bag she withdrew held a personal bluewire device that had visibly been modified and decorated with what looked like human teeth, though a few of them were definitely alien. She set it aside and, with some difficulty due to her injury, activated her own omni-tool and sent an encrypted remote command to the other device, which lit up and projected the image of a laughing turian skull, slightly distorted from passing through the evidence bag.

She just had time to change her destination and wipe the skycar's log of the last few entries before a car headed in the opposite direction swerved directly toward her. She evaded the runaway vehicle, which slammed into the poor bastard just behind her. With a jerk, she flipped her car around, activated her C-Sec protocols to keep traffic flowing around her, and set down a few yards away from the smoking mess of steel and glass.

She scanned traffic and, seeing no one else attempting to render aid, got out of her car. As she rose, she freed her injured arm from the makeshift sling. She fought to avoid blacking out from the pain as it was jostled and swung free, and she tried not to visibly favor it, in case any of the victims of the crash were watching. Before she'd taken three steps, another skycar malfunctioned and caused another head-on collision in the nearest stream of traffic.

One of the vehicles crashed to the ground within a few paces of the first crash, but the other stayed in the air and continued an unstable path past them for a moment before swinging wildly around and accelerating, aimed directly at Shepard's skycar.

She dove, trying to clear the incoming vehicle's trajectory, and landed hard an instant before the collision sent her car tumbling overhead. A shower of glass stung her hands, face and legs, and a larger chunk of debris landed scant inches from her head. She smiled through the pain of her broken bone and the myriad smaller injuries. Emergency response would take care of everything now.

* * *

"Vakarian, who called you?" Executor Pallin demanded, clearly surprised to run into Garrus.

"No one," Garrus admitted. "Shepard's never late, but her shift started over an hour ago. Lang filled me in when I started asking after her. I came right over when I heard she was in the hospital." He didn't mention that he'd also accessed Shepard's medical chart and everything else in the C-Sec database about the incident– which wasn't much since it had happened fairly late the previous evening and nothing had been fully analyzed yet. He didn't want Pallin to think too much of his interest in Shepard's accident.

"Huh," the other turian grunted. "I guess she _is_ your partner. Is there something to those rumors I've been hearing about the two of you?"

Garrus recoiled. How had _anyone_ heard about him and Shepard? He coughed to clear his throat when he noticed the slowly spreading smirk of Pallin's flared mandibles. "No, Sir. We had drinks, but it didn't go anywhere."

"She's technically Alliance," Pallin casually pointed out, "not one of ours, so I don't give a damn what you do with her as long as you understand I'm not reassigning either of you if it goes poorly. She's already been posted to Patrol, Special Response, and I fought Network and E-Crimes tooth and nail to get her moved to your department, and _you'd_ be wasted outside Investigations, Vakarian. Don't think that means I'll tolerate any _distractions_ on the job, though. But, unless it hurts your performance, I wouldn't even bother with a notation in your file, in case you're wondering."

"It isn't like that, Sir. She's my partner and that's as far as it's going to go." Garrus turned his face away for a moment, and pointed his foot outward. This wasn't worth wasting time over, but when his superiors wanted answers, he had to give them. Maybe Pallin would finally let the topic drop.

"Fine," the other turian said, clearly unconvinced.

_ Why doesn't he believe it?_ Garrus wondered. _Maybe he's got a thing for humans himself? That would explain his ridiculous fascination with human idioms, and she's attractive enough, I suppose. I should probably tell Shepard the boss might have his eye on her, and not for her talent as a detective,_ he thought with a sigh. It was certain to be a _fun_ conversation.

"She's just down the hall," Pallin said with a wave, interrupting Garrus's thoughts. "Third door on the left. Tell her she's suspended until the investigation clears, but not to worry– we'll fast-track it so she can get back to work. We'll probably be done before she's fit for duty. Humans may be resilient, but they take a long time to heal."

"Wait, what do you mean? Isn't she a suspect?" Garrus demanded.

The executor's eyes narrowed, "How much did you hear, Vakarian?"

Garrus carefully kept his mandibles pulled in close. They wanted to flutter. "That the device that sent out the virus and caused the pileup was in _her_ car and that some of her injuries didn't exactly add up. You can't tell me that's not suspicious, Sir."

"Lang told you quite a bit, didn't he? The device was in an evidence bag. It wasn't hers."

"An _unsealed_ evidence bag with only partial information encoded to its file and no corresponding report in the database," Garrus corrected, realizing his blunder too late.

"She had just confiscated it, Vakarian," Pallin explained with false patience. "Seems like your style is rubbing off on her, unfortunately. I was hoping it would go the other way, to be honest. Anyway, she was off-duty, saw something suspicious, but the kid she decided to arrest got away from her. She managed to hang on to his bluewire bracelet, so she was going to log it."

Garrus flicked his fingers in annoyance. He wasn't buying that. Arresting someone while off-duty wasn't Shepard's style. Not at all. "So how'd it activate and deploy the virus?" he demanded.

Pallin stepped forward, reminding Garrus to whom he was speaking. Garrus, once again, turned his head to the side. It wasn't worth a confrontation. Pallin seemed placated when he spoke again, "That's a good question for E-Crimes. Now, here's one for you: why would Shepard knowingly send out a virus to a dozen skycars while she was in transit? She doesn't seem suicidal."

"I don't know. Maybe she did it accidentally, or maybe..." he trailed off, realizing he was sounding like an idiot. He'd given it some thought and the motive for causing an accident like that was baffling. There were few possibilities. _Maybe she needed to draw attention away from something, or maybe she just needed an unexamined trip to the hospital._ And it felt right, as far-fetched as it sounded. He was a _good_ detective, and his instincts were usually right about this kind of thing. Still, he didn't think it was such a good idea to speculate so wildly to a superior about his politically-connected partner. "Never mind, Sir, I'm just a little shaken by the news. I should go see her."

"Hold on a minute, is there something you're not telling me, Vakarian? I thought you and the Alliance golden child were thick as thieves. Hell, until a few minutes ago, I was under the impression that you were screwing her," he said, a baiting rumble in his sub-harmonics. No, the executor definitely still believed Garrus _was_ screwing his partner.

"Humans are just a little strange, sometimes, Sir. Shepard's no exception, but she does good work. I'm sure she'll be cleared for duty in no time."

"Right," the executor agreed, growing bored. "If she _is_ dirty, don't let your feelings get in the way of your career, Vakarian. And don't forget to tell her about the suspension. It'll go down easier coming from you than if she hears it from me, I suspect."

* * *

"Garrus, what a surprise," Shepard said, flashing him a bright smile as she scooted herself into a more upright position on the hospital bed with surprising grace, considering the equipment she was hooked up to and the medi-gel delivery structure encasing her arm. He looked away from the injury as soon as he realized how many injection points were buried in her pale skin– it must have been a pretty bad fracture to require that much attention.

Her face showed a collection of deep violet bruises and taped cuts, and her pale gold hair was twisted into a loose knot behind her head, leaving long tendrils to hang around her face and shoulders. All things considered, she looked pretty good, but there was something odd about her. It took him a moment to realize what the difference was, but the lack of face paint– no, humans called it makeup– left her eyes and lips much lighter than normal. Barefaced, she looked younger and more innocent. Vulnerable, even. Once he realized the difference in her appearance, he was glad that the daily mask she painted over her features hid this aspect of her– it was too soft and gentle. Shepard was anything but, and the strange incongruity was disorienting.

"Hey, partner, you alright?" Shepard prompted. "You're staring."

Garrus shook his head, dismissing his wandering thoughts,"You, uh... look different without makeup. Good, but different. I think I like you better with it on. You sort of look like you'd be an easy mark this way."

"Ah. Well, thanks, I think," she said, an uneven smile pulling at her lips. "What brings you by? If you expect me to work from here, the door's that way," she said, smiling wider as she tipped her head toward the exit.

"That's not it at all, Shepard," Garrus denied, flicking his wrist to emphasize the statement and injecting a hurt tone into his sub-harmonics. "What kind of cretin wouldn't come see his partner in the hospital?" he purred, laying on the charm. Shepard seemed to like him, and that was a useful asset at the moment.

"Maybe the kind who'd just shot her down in the most merciless fashion less than forty-eight hours earlier?" she replied, somehow pulling of a simultaneous pout and smirk. Garrus wasn't sure what to make of the expression.

He shifted, a little uncomfortable at the reminder. "Yeah, have you been talking about that? Because the Executor's heard _rumors_, and I find that a little disturbing."

"What part bothers you?" she asked, her tone casual and cheerful. "It's not like anything happened. We just had drinks, danced a little, and fifteen minutes after you took me back to your place, you let me know that you find me physically repulsive," she said, her tone brittle and her smile fading fast. "You could have told me before I got my clothes off, you know."

He rubbed his face ruefully, "Spirits, you're impossible. You know, that's not exactly how I remember it going..."

"You'd been drinking, fuzzy memory is understandable, Vakarian," she replied in a light tone, though her features pinched in a scowl.

"Why don't we table this until you're healed up, okay? That's not why I'm here."

"Well, that sounds promising," she drawled. "I didn't realize there was anything to discuss. You'd better not be stringing me along, Vakarian," she said, a playful note in her voice as her scowl melted away.

"So what were you doing near Cerulean Star?" he asked, ignoring her flirtations.

"Looking for a good time, maybe for a fight," she answered easily without looking him in the eye. "A girl's got to do something to keep herself entertained, you know, and my last date was an absolute disaster."

He ignored the barb. It _hadn't _been a date. At least, when he agreed to it, he didn't know that's what it was supposed to be. "I'm surprised that's your scene, Shepard. You seem a little higher class than that. So, you went looking for a fight and instead you found an extremely tacky bluewire device loaded with some kind of virus that was meant to target the nav computer in skycars within a certain proximity. Do you chalk that up as a win?"

"Got in a fight with a bunch of rogue skycars?" she said with a shrug. "Rough sex with a stranger would have been my top choice, but I think I came out okay considering the odds. The broken arm is a bit more than I bargained for, though."

"Come on, Shepard. You might as well come clean. Pallin's suspending you until the omni-tool clears E-Crimes, and the rest of the crap you had in your car is thoroughly investigated. Including your own bluewire." He watched her closely for any sign of nervousness, but she didn't seem distressed at all by the news. Not _at all_. He wouldn't want someone pawing through _his_ omni-tool, especially not internal affairs, but Shepard wasn't bothered in the least. _Could she have master-minded the whole thing?_ Garrus wondered, feeling even more unsettled by his human partner as he considered the possibilities._ How else would she be so confident about this?_

Shepard rolled her eyes, "Aren't you supposed to be on my side? Garrus, this kid was sitting there bragging about how he'd just used some kind of forged credit chit to scam a bunch of local businesses out of thousands of credits. I listened to him for a bit, and it sounded plausible, so I tried to get close to him. He got grabby, so I pulled my badge and tried to arrest him. I got his 'tool tucked away and then someone hit me from behind and he bolted. I got to my car and circled the club a few times, but I couldn't spot him. Next thing I know, the bluewire's showing me some kind of chattering skull or something and oncoming traffic is hurling itself directly at me. I steered clear, but the unlucky guy behind me wasn't quite as fast. When I stopped to help, cars kept falling out of the sky. I must have hit my head again, because I don't really remember anything else. Was anyone seriously hurt?"

"Yeah. Four cars depressurized above the atmosphere envelope. Six fatalities, three in critical care, and about a dozen injuries, plus you." The news darkened her expression, but she just looked angry, not saddened in the least, and he wondered, perhaps unfairly, if she was disappointed by the body count. She had always struck him as a bit blood-thirsty and callous. If it was anyone else, he'd believe she was contemplating whether she could have prevented the deaths, but something about her had always set him on edge, and whatever it was that had that effect on him was currently working overtime. "So, by grabby, what do you mean?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, jarred from her thoughts.

"The kid," Garrus clarified. "You said he got 'grabby.'"

She sighed and shook her head, "I was out for drinks. Dressed up, you know? When I approached him, I used it. Lucky for me, he likes humans, or at least asari and I was close enough. Unlucky for him, he's an entitled little shit who thought he could get away with copping a feel just because I was talking to him."

"So that's it?" Garrus asked. "He just grabbed your ass?" Shepard gave him a disgusted look, which probably meant she thought he was being a sexist jerk, but at the moment, he didn't care.

"He couldn't get enough of my tits either, but yeah, he _just_ grabbed my ass. Guess I was asking for it by wearing such a short skirt, huh?"

Yep, she _definitely_ thought he was being a jerk. Garrus didn't know how to gracefully repair the damage, so he pressed on, hoping she'd allow it. "So how'd you get the gashes on your neck and shoulder, Shepard? Those look an awful lot like scratches from a turian hand. Did the guy grab you?"

Her brow furrowed. "I thought it was probably glass or something from the wreck. I haven't seen them," she said, her hand unconsciously rising to touch the bandages covering the area in question. "Was one of the emergency responders turian? That wasn't the kid and I don't remember it happening."

"They're a little deep for someone's grip slipping while they moved you onto a stretcher, and the angle's wrong," he said, knowing it actually _wasn't_ if she'd been found lying on her side and it happened while she was being rolled over, but her reaction told him a lot, anyway. She seemed confused and possibly a little disturbed, and that told him he was probably chasing shadows. "How much did you have to drink?" he asked.

Shepard glared at him. "Not sure how to read a toxicology report, Garrus?" she said, irritation plain. "No, that's not it. I bet you're just not familiar enough with human physiology to know what the numbers mean," she added derisively.

"Excuse me?"

"You know my injuries better than I do. Which means you took a look at my medical chart before you came in here. If you're here to interrogate me, just be up-front about it."

"I'm here to make sure my partner's not going to hang herself when she's facing someone who actually cares about her answers," he lied. "Shall I assume that means you were trying to arrest someone while completely hammered?"

"Look, I know I fucked up, Garrus," Shepard snapped, the fierce expression on her face and sharp tone seeming incongruous with her gentle, youthful appearance, "but while you're investigating me, that little shit's going to ground. If he has the programming chops to cut through skycar nav encryption _remotely,_ and replicate it to other vehicles within moments, he's a force to be reckoned with. For once, I decided to do what I imagined you would do in my position, and look how it turned out. Obviously I'm not cut out for playing fast and loose with the rules like you are, Vakarian."

She _was_ more dedicated to following regulations than he was, and somehow that didn't seem to impair her ability to get the job done to _his_ satisfaction, but despite her straight-laced front, she had always struck him as dangerous, reckless, and... wrong. It could just be their differing philosophies, or a culture clash, but he'd never felt like this about another human. He realized with annoyance that his mandibles were fluttering.

He put a stop to it and locked eyes with her once more, "Did you give someone a description?" Looking into her eyes reminded him of how innocent she currently looked, and his mandibles threatened to flutter again, betraying his uncertainty. She'd probably think he was nervous about talking to her. Angrily, he stilled his face, promising himself he'd never allow himself to be deceived by her appearance.

Shepard sighed and brushed a stray lock of light hair away from her face, "Yeah, of course. Turian, older juvenile– nearly adult, sharp features, a little on the short side, yellow clan markings..."

"Yellow?" he interrupted. "No one uses yellow, Shepard."

"Then he'll be easy to find," she countered, nonplussed. "Maybe he painted over his to hide his identity, or maybe he's bare-faced. Anyway, Lang took my statement. Were those real teeth on the bracelet? Some of them looked human..."

At least a few were turian molars, by the looks of them, but Garrus didn't tell her that. She was a suspect in his opinion, even if no one else thought so at this point. "I haven't seen the report, if there even is one yet, but it wouldn't surprise me. That's the kind of thing someone primed to join the Blue Suns would do."

"That's sick. I don't think I want to know how he got them," Shepard said with a frown. "Someone needs to find him."

"Well, Pallin's fast-tracking the investigation to clear you so you can get back to work, and you can help me hunt him down."

"That won't be fast enough, Garrus. Do it yourself– get him for me."

"Huh. I was thinking I'd get you flowers or something as a get well present, but I guess if you want a young turian hacker instead, who am I to argue? But I have to ask, does that mean you've got some kind of fetish?" he said, forcing a playful tone. He wasn't done with her, yet, and he wanted her off-balance.

Shepard smiled crookedly, "I think I've heard that accusation before, but usually the consensus is that I like trouble and don't know what's good for me," she stated, tilting her head as she studied him. "How about you? Got a human fetish? Because I think you're flirting with me, and that's at least half a dozen kinds of confusing given certain recent events."

He smiled at her by rolling his head and flicking his mandibles twice, knowing she was adept at reading his body language and facial expressions, which were so different from her own. "When you asked me out I thought you just wanted to have a drink and shoot the shit, and then you showed up in that sexy little black dress and tried to seduce me."

"So I just caught you off guard?" she asked, arching one golden brow. "That's why you broke my heart and made a complete fool of me?"

"Maybe."

"Suave. Good thing I'm not as tender as I look. Maybe we should try again when you get used to the idea?" she suggested.

"Maybe, Shepard," he agreed, a little unnerved that she had just voiced his own opinion of her looks. "Your doctor is salarian, right? I think I'll go make sure he knows that for all intents and purposes, you're a C-Sec detective. It looks like they're taking good care of you, but it's not worth taking any chances."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, hopefully drawing the conclusion he was leading her to. "He didn't seem so bad. Should I be worried?"

"No, because I'm going to take care of it for you, Shepard," he countered, pleased that she had been so easy to misdirect. Mostly he wanted a ready reason for questioning her doctor, but humans often got sub-par treatment from the other species on the Citadel, so it was a good excuse. In his opinion, it wasn't surprising that humans weren't anyone's favorite aliens, but the people who suffered from the Alliance's politics the most were usually completely undeserving. Maybe not Shepard, since she was Alliance, through and through, but she was hurt and she deserved quality medical care.

"My hero. Tell someone I'm starving. I think they forgot I'm a biotic."

"Sure," he agreed. Sometimes he forgot she was a biotic, too, since so few humans were. While she'd been assigned to Special Response, he was certain she used her abilities all the time, but Investigations had little use for biotics in daily operations. It was strange that in eight months, Shepard had already worked in half the departments of C-Sec, but he had to admit she had the skills to perform well anywhere she'd been placed. The different departments were practically squabbling over her, and it had little to do with her political connections– the Alliance didn't have much pull in C-Sec, after all. He realized he'd been staring at her for too long and awkwardly turned away, "I should probably get back to work. Ping me if there's anything you need, or if you remember something that might help me get that hacker for you," he said as he rose to leave.

"That'll be pretty hard with my omni-tool being ripped apart by E-Crimes, Vakarian. I think we're both on our own," she replied, shifting around to get more comfortable. "Thanks for coming by," she called, dismissing him before the half-formed promise to come check on her again found voice. He turned his head to the side and pulled his mandibles close in apology. She flicked her wrist in response, dismissing his concern. He left the room before his sense of courtesy obligated him to act as her care-taker.

Sure, she was his partner, but she _wasn't_ really a C-Sec officer, and despite her charm and how easily she had convinced everyone _else_ that she was beyond suspicion, he wasn't so sure. The doctor who examined her indicated that there was evidence she'd recently had sex, but according to the medical notes, when asked, Shepard denied it. She also declined to allow the physician to swab for DNA, but the doctor maintained his opinion based on a set of abrasions on her inner thighs and some bruising on her arms. Garrus suspected she might have gotten a lot friendlier with her turian hacker than she was willing to admit, and he intended to find out.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, don't forget to comment. Comments are the best things ever.


	2. Pristine

Garrus swore and angrily closed the reports. He had _nothing_. Shepard wasn't clean, she was _pristine_. Immaculate. No one should be so perfect. She was hiding something– he was certain of that, now. Maybe she bribed someone, or hacked in remotely and cleaned up her 'tool before anyone could look at it. There had to be some explanation. He couldn't be wrong. There was nothing incriminating or even mildly embarrassing on her omni-tool. But he also knew there should be receipts for drinks, parking invoices, or _something_ from her visit to Cerulean Star, and there was nothing of the sort. Unless she was there on someone else's credits, what was missing painted a clearer picture of her guilt than what was there. But that still literally left him with nothing.

What was worse is that they actually had found the juvenile hacker Shepard failed to arrest. They found him a few hours _after_ the ship he was on jumped out of the Widow system for Omega. The Blue Suns had recruited him, near as Garrus could tell. Without being able to question the kid, there was just enough corroboration to bolster Shepard's story, and nothing to destabilize it.

A glance at the time provoked another curse. He'd have to hurry if he was going to get to the hospital before they released Shepard. Grabbing a stack of datapads containing his active case files, he left his austere apartment. He needed to talk to her before she had a chance to read the reports herself. She'd be reinstated as soon as she decided she felt up to returning to work. Knowing Shepard, that meant she'd be back at their workstation in a few hours. From what he'd heard, Pallin wanted to temporarily send her over to work with E-Crimes on that virus. And knowing her, she'd take one look at the code and within a few hours have a security patch ready to test on the fleet of C-Sec patrol cars. It would be just like her. Alliance golden child, indeed.

What really got him was how much of a propaganda stunt Shepard's induction into C-Sec was for the Alliance. The woman either didn't know how much political backing she had, or she simply didn't care. Interplanetary Combatives Training– the N7 program– was the Alliance's attempt to prove humans could match up to the heavy hitters in the rest of the galaxy. Shepard's career– from the unprecedented swiftness of the first half of her N trials, to her actions during the Skyllian Blitz, to the massacre at Torfan– had been one spectacle after another. Of course the humans were using her as an example of what their species had to offer. This quiet post as an emeritus C-Sec officer was unusual, but Garrus was certain it was an attempt to further the cause of getting a human appointed as a Spectre. It didn't seem that Shepard knew that, either, which was odd. She was smart and observant. Sometimes he felt like she could see right through him, and he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Yet she seemed to have no idea what the purpose of her integration into C-Sec might be. What could have her so pre-occupied that she wouldn't see it? He felt that if he could answer that question, he could unravel all her mysteries. She was so good at playing her part and living up to the image the Alliance spin doctors had created for her to wear, but as well as it fit her, he knew it wasn't _real_. It couldn't be. There were inconsistencies, strange reports, _missing_ reports, whole years without a scrap of information available about her that made him certain there was a mystery to solve. Why did no one else see it?

* * *

Shepard carefully controlled her breathing as someone entered her room. She didn't want to be disturbed and if they thought she was asleep, maybe they'd go away. Three days without an omni-tool was driving her insane, but at least she still had her modified bio-amp and everything that was stored in the memory bank she had added to it. In particular, she had a recording of her _encounter_ with Avitus. She'd relived that evening again and again, feigning sleep while allowing the data being fed directly to her brain to overwhelm her senses, trying to see where she went wrong. She'd gotten quite good at controlling her responses to the recorded memory by now and she only occasionally found herself reacting to a neural impulse that existed only in the bio-amp's custom data banks.

Finally, she concluded that it was probably the post-coital endorphin rush that had dulled her awareness. There was no other explanation unless she was willing to chalk it up to bad luck, which of course she wouldn't. Part of her kept screaming that it was Vakarian's fault. He had rejected her, despite everything she did to attract him, and from that point on, she'd been struggling to regain her sense of control, her confidence.

Avitus had made it worse by not only fighting back, but almost beating her, even though she had recovered and cleaned that mess up very nicely. Of course, now she would have to reestablish some of her contingency plans, and that would take time. The delay irritated her, but there was always a lot of prep work before she could move on to the next target, anyway. Sometimes it took months. That was why she had learned how to manage several targets in different stages at once. She always had a backup in case there were setbacks. The contingency measures could wait. She knew she was walking a razor's edge, but it had been so long since she made a mistake. What was the likelihood she'd need her safety net again so soon?

And maybe she was making too much of this blunder. Maybe she should be looking at it as an affirmation that she had so many layers of control that it didn't matter what her target did or how hard he fought back. The turian businessman was dead, and the only person who suspected her of anything was looking in the wrong direction. She had accomplished her mission. Why didn't that make her feel more satisfied?

Avitus's death had left an open seat on the board of directors for his family's business, which specialized in biotic amps and implants for turians and volus, but also produced human-compatible models. With Avitus gone, that seat was now likely to be filled by a prominent human biotic– an Alliance veteran whose L2 implant had rendered him useless on the battlefield by causing total paralysis whenever he tried to generate anything but the weakest mass effect field. The condition had progressed slowly, but by the time the doctors figured out what was going on, it had caused irreversible damage. But the man's mind was sharp, and he was an outspoken and well-known supporter of biotic research. More importantly, he was human, and loyal to the Alliance. With a human on the board, the company was likely to expand the line of human-compatible implants and amplifiers.

Whoever had entered her room flicked the lights on and cleared his throat. It sounded like Garrus. Shepard drew a deep breath and blearily opened her eyes, acting as though she was just waking up.

"I see they aren't that eager to get rid of you, Shepard," Garrus said, his mandibles high in amusement.

"You woke me, Vakarian. This had better be good."

"Don't lie, I know you were faking," he countered, tapping the visor he always wore. She frowned at her oversight. She needed to figure out a way to get that damned visor on her side. Maybe an override that would match the readout to her facial expression or something. It should be easy enough to manipulate the data his visor spat out about her, but she needed her bluewire back in order to do it.

"Well, I was afraid you were a nurse coming in to refill the medi-gel frame or something. Have you ever had medi-gel injected into your bones? It's unpleasant, especially with so many delivery points."

"And the nurse wouldn't have cared if you were asleep. He's got a job to do just like the rest of us. I'm here because I thought they were releasing you this morning. Your skycar was totaled and it seemed a little sad that you don't have anyone else to take you home."

Shepard didn't believe him. He wanted something. Probably another chance to interrogate her. "Such a valiant soul. Get someone in here and we'll see if I get to take you up on that. No one's said a word to me about when I can go home. But, come to think of it, the doctor's been avoiding me since you had a chat with him. What did you say, anyway?"

"I just reminded him that though you might be an uppity human, you do good work with C-Sec, and your superiors would definitely miss you while you were recovering."

"I recall that conversation differently, Officer Vakarian," the salarian doctor stated as he entered the room, snapping the lights up to full illumination, causing both other occupants to squint at the sudden change. "Regardless, your partner has received the best care available. Fit to return to light duty. Just received orders from Executor Pallin to release her, regardless of condition. Highly unusual. Fortunately, medi-gel regime complete."

"Like I said, Shepard was missed," Garrus muttered and stood aside to allow the doctor to remove the medi-gel frame from Shepard's arm, then bandage the punctures.

Shepard cleared her throat and ignored the doctor. "I believe you just called me uppity?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. "In what way am I uppity, Vakarian?"

"In the way that humans generally are, Shepard," he replied, his mandibles high with amusement. The doctor's eyes widened, appreciating Garrus's reply as much as the turian did himself, before hastily turning away to hide his expression. The salarian busied himself with updating Shepard's medical file on the room's terminal, though he could have done it with his bluewire device. The salarian was probably laughing at her, Shepard sourly realized. The degree of racism that humans were confronted with on the Citadel was disgusting. And it was even worse almost everywhere else.

Garrus tapped his heel to the floor and continued, "Your people haven't even been part of the galactic community for a hundred years and you all act like you own the place. No patience, no decorum, no reverence, and no respect. But that's alright, it's half of your charm, now that I think of it."

"Officer Shepard," the doctor interrupted, "please sign out at the front desk as you leave. Your personal effects that weren't confiscated by your colleagues are in this locker." He pressed his thumb to a biometric scanner and the locker in question opened. "I'm afraid they haven't been cleaned. A list of instructions and recommendations for the care of your injury as it continues to heal will be sent to your personal correspondence account."

"Chief Warrant Officer Shepard," Garrus corrected. "She's Alliance, posted to C-Sec for her expertise."

"Yes, fascinating. Good day to both of you," the salarian said, quickly leaving the room.

"That was abrupt," Garrus mumbled, absently inspecting the contents of the locker.

"You were saying something, Garrus. Something derogatory and racist, I believe? Now, did you mean half of _my_ charm personally, or are you talking about humans generally?"

"Generally speaking, of course."

"Uh-huh. Well, forgive me if I fail to see why it matters how long humans have been on the Citadel. I'm not an uppity human, and my work protects everyone on the Citadel. And I do it better than most of the non-human officers."

"You have more training."

"More military training than the turians on the force?" Shepard flicked her wrist. "What your people think of as primary school is what humans call boot camp. Don't give me that crap."

"So you're not more highly trained, then?" Garrus said, his mandibles uneven– skeptical.

"I have training, but what makes it effective is that I'm a fucking genius, Garrus. You didn't bring me any clean clothes, did you?"

"No. Didn't think of it," Garrus said, glancing away in apology. "Aside from your unbelievable humility, I think your most impressive trait is that you're not afraid to do what it takes to get the job done. Spirits, sometimes I forget you're the Hero of the Blitz."

"And the Victor of Torfan," Shepard added, finally rolling out of bed and stretching. "That was the true crucible, Garrus."

"Don't you mean 'Butcher of Torfan?' That's what everyone else calls you," he reminded, watching her as she inspected the contents of the locker.

"I have a metal and a certificate," she pointed out. Without a thought to modesty, she pulled the ties holding her hospital gown closed. She smiled when Garrus's mandibles flickered madly and he turned hurriedly away. "They both say 'Victor of Torfan,' as they should." She slipped into the dress she'd been wearing when she visited Avitus, disgusted to find that the back was stiff with blood.

"Right. And I think that goes a little further to prove my point. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though, Shepard. Pallin's cleared you for duty as soon as you feel up to it."

"The investigation's over?" she asked, pulling the zipper closed. "You can turn around now."

Garrus hesitated, but he _did_ turn to face her. He avoided eye contact, though. She had embarrassed him. "Not quite, but at this point it's cleanup and paperwork."

"I guess that means I didn't do it," she joked, stepping into her shoes and fastening the straps. "That explains your grumpy face."

"I'm not grumpy. I'm _glad_ my partner wasn't found to be responsible for that accident."

"But? You didn't get the hacker, did you? Let me guess, he hightailed it to Omega or some other lawless corner of the galaxy and slipped your grasp?" Her arm was a little stiff, so she just draped her jacket over her shoulders, then pocketed the small, sealed bag containing the jewelry she'd been wearing. That was it. She closed the locker and left the hospital's clothing on the floor.

"Exactly," Garrus said, following her out of the room.

"Does that mean you believe me now that you know he's real?"

"I can't argue with the evidence," Garrus conceded, but Shepard could see he would have liked to make that argument anyway. She needed to distract him, but they'd arrived at the front desk. Signing out took only a few moments– it was an automated process.

When she finished, Shepard flicked her hair over her shoulder, and glanced at Garrus through her eyelashes, "So we're on for drinks this weekend?"

"What?" the turian recoiled. "No, we're not. I mean... work has been piling up with you gone. Four murders this week so far. _Four._ We both have a lot to catch up on, so maybe some other time?"

"Smooth. How about we make it a working date? We can bring the files over to my place, pound through some paperwork, order in, drink some wine, then, I don't know, watch a vid or something."

"It... sounds nice, but I just don't think we'll get any work done, Shepard. My skycar's this way," he said, flicking one mandible to point her in the right direction. Shepard fell into step beside him, following him to the correct dock.

"Alright. Hint taken," she said. Garrus opened her door for her– probably just because she was favoring her injured arm, but she still found that she appreciated the gesture. She waited until he got into the vehicle before continuing. "You meet someone in the past three days?"

"No...?" Garrus uncertainly answered, obviously not getting her point.

She leaned toward him since she couldn't take a step forward to show Garrus she was taking control of the conversation– that he needed to listen to her, that she was serious. "Because you led me to believe you were interested in a second date a few days ago. What changed?"

Garrus leaned back, either submitting to her display or just getting comfortable. Turian body language was difficult unless two people were standing up and facing one another. "Shepard, can we do this later?" he asked.

Irritated, she flicked her wrist, "When? While we're catching up on half a week's paperwork and solving four murders? We don't exactly run in the same social circles. Seems like now or never."

"I don't really have a problem with that, actually. Never is fine by me."

Shepard raised a skeptical eyebrow. Vakarian was difficult, and she was tired of his games. Maybe it was time to give up on him. He wasn't mission-critical, anyway, so what did it matter? _One more chance..._ "I guess I should be glad. I'm pretty sure I left my apartment a mess. This isn't going to make working together weird, is it? Being on the Citadel is surprisingly lonely, and I figured that since we get along so well, despite our differences, it might have been worth... exploring something." She turned her face away from him, hoping to add weight to her next words, "I didn't mean to pressure you, Garrus. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

The turian's mandibles flickered rapidly for a split second, then he raised them and rolled his head– a turian's way of smiling and laughing. "I doubt you could do that if you tried, Shepard," he said with a flick of his fingers, dismissing the possibility.

_Liar,_ she thought, triumphantly. He took the bait. She smiled and said nothing, waiting for his inevitable reversal of the decision to refuse her invitation.

"I'm just being an ass because it's been a long week and Pallin and I have been butting heads. Maybe getting some work done out of the office would be a good thing. I think I've seen enough of my desk– and yours– to last me for a while. And I'm sure spending some time with my partner will be a pleasant change of pace. You're not bad, for a human."

Shepard tried not to smirk._ Almost missed your chance, Garrus, _she thought._ I'm surprised you didn't jump at the first offer to spend _hours_ in my apartment without a warrant._ He caught on, though, that was what mattered. If he was still suspicious of her, of course he couldn't pass up that opportunity. Now she just had to turn the situation into what _she_ wanted. He could snoop around all he wanted, and she'd be sure to find an excuse to leave him alone there for a while. Her apartment held nothing incriminating. Nothing he could get to, anyway. "Slow down there, you're giving me whiplash," she said, coquettishly smiling at him. "Are we back to a working date, now?"

"I guess so," Garrus said, sheepishly turning his head aside. "If you don't mind having me over."

Shepard smiled, satisfied that she had been able to coax him into doing what she wished without her usual tricks and tools. "If you don't mind the mess, I don't. Just don't try to clean anything. I hate it when people move my stuff. Even my garbage."

"Deal. But, Shepard, let's just... take it slow, alright?"

"Okay, just keep an open mind and actually give this a chance and I won't make a move until you do... _if_ you'll agree to use my first name when we're not on duty or at the office." She needed him to expand how he viewed her. He had _never_ used anything but her rank or surname, and that meant even if they were in a personal setting, he was still thinking of her as a co-worker. Partner was good, but not good enough. And if he slipped and called her 'Shepard' while they were alone, she wouldn't have to keep her end of the bargain.

Garrus tensed, and for a moment, she thought he would refuse. "I think I can do that, Valor."


	3. Bait

Shepard visibly drooped when she threw open the door, "Yep, bad as I feared," she announced, then led him into her apartment. Garrus was prepared for stacks of old take-out containers, clutter, dirty laundry and general lack of housekeeping. Which left him unprepared for Shepard's apartment. There were a few datapads on the table, the pieces of a ship model neatly spread out across a work table, and half a bottle of wine with a mostly-empty glass bearing a crescent of dark lipstick on the rim standing on the counter.

"Wow, this is shocking, Valor," he joked. It actually looked surprisingly similar to his own apartment, aside from the large display of ship models that took up most of one wall, and if one exchanged the wine bottle and glass for empty beer bottles. Closer inspection of the apartment showed him an ashtray filled with spent nicotine cartridges for a vapor cigarette, and there _was_ a neat stack of empty take-out containers. But that was just it, the stack of garbage was _neat_.

"Don't judge too harshly. I don't entertain often," she replied, though her smile tipped him off that she wasn't being serious either.

"It's going to be tough, but I'll try," Garrus said, setting the box of files he carried on the table. He casually picked one of the datapads scattered across the table and activated it, knowing he was prying, but she was standing _right there_ and if she'd left it out... He was disappointed to find an article from a particularly dry financial periodical. Something about a company that produced biotic implants and amps.

"I'm going to shower and change. Why don't you use this," she said, dropping a C-Sec resource credit chit onto the table, "and order a bunch of whatever it is you eat and drink. That box of this week's cases looks pretty full so we'll probably be at it for a while."

"Alright. What about you?"

"I'll take care of my order. I have a spare bluewire in the bedroom."

_A spare omni-tool,_ Garrus thought excitedly, wondering how he could get a look at it. Of course, it wouldn't tie her to the hacker who had unleashed the virus and caused the pile-up. Not on the night of the accident, anyway, since it obviously wasn't on her at the time, but if she kept a spare omni-tool, there might be something worth seeing on the one she kept in the privacy of her home. "Um, alright. Get moving, though. I've been working these cases on my own all week, it's time you pulled your weight."

"Meaning you're making no headway and you need my expertise, Garrus?" she playfully speculated.

"I wouldn't put it that way, exactly," he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Make yourself at home. As long as that doesn't include messing with my stuff, please."

"What stuff? Your garbage or your... other garbage?" he asked, with a glance at the unassembled ship model.

"That _garbage_ is called a hobby. Some of us like to do things that aren't directly related to the daily grind at C-Sec. It's healthy."

"You've got to have about a hundred of them," Garrus said with a strange mix of incredulity and awe as he paid a bit more attention to the display of assembled models.

"Not even close, it's only fifty-seven. Fifty-eight when I finish that fighter on the desk."

"Is building a whole fleet of tiny, plastic ships really that healthy? I mean, personally I like to go to the holo-theater in my free time. That, and clean my guns. Those are _normal_ hobbies."

Shepard rolled her eyes and showed him her middle finger. A rude human gesture. Sometimes threatening, but not this time. "Don't touch them. Don't even go near them," she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

"Enjoy your shower, Shepard," he called as she disappeared down the hall. He was sure she was still near enough to hear, though, so he raised his voice a little and continued, "You kinda need one, so I take back my earlier request– go ahead and take your time." _Take all the time you need,_ he silently added, turning his attention back to the datapad in his hand.

He used pupil motion commands to harvest the publication's metadata with his visor, then stored it on his bluewire. He also copied the usage data so he could track what Shepard had read. When the upload finished– a matter of seconds– he moved on to the next one. He worked quickly through the rest of the datapads Shepard had left out, not really seeing what they contained. There would be time to go over everything in detail later. Right now, he needed to scan as much of the apartment as he could.

When the last datapad was catalogued, he turned his attention to the ships. Shepard had just turned on the shower, so he felt free to openly study the collection. They were clearly arranged very carefully on the wall display, but he couldn't discern any method of organization. Batarian freighters were flanked by tiny salarian scouts and high-powered turian fighters. An asari cruiseliner rubbed shoulders with an antique human space shuttle– one of the earliest designs that had carried humans away from Earth. He continued studying and taking snapshots of the display. There had to be some way to make sense of the collection.

The display was circular. That was where he'd start. The most important position in a circle is the center, and if Shepard intended to keep expanding her collection, spiraling outward would keep it looking balanced without running out of space. Assuming, of course, that there _was_ some significance to where the ships were placed. The middle– that was the first ship, he was certain. Every model was clean, but he knew even the most compulsive cleaners would often miss a detail like dusting the mounting brackets. He checked, but aside from the ones on the outside ring, they all seemed equally dusty, which actually made sense when he thought about it. Shepard had probably brought this collection with her when she was posted to the Citadel, so it all went up on the wall at the same time, except the new additions, of course. There were eighteen mounts that seemed newer than the rest of the display. She'd been busy. That was more than one a month. Hell, it was almost two per month.

He still didn't know if the center meant anything. He studied the model more closely, his face mere inches from it. It was a turian cruiser, and the dust settling on its more difficult-to-reach surfaces confirmed that it had been there a while. A quick comparison of dust build-up throughout the collection seemed to support his theory of the display being built in a spiral.

_Good, _he thought. _I know how fast she builds them, which means I can figure out how long she's been collecting, and I know which one she built first._ All this time with Shepard had at least given him an idea how her mind worked, but he had to wonder what good it was. _What does it say about me that I'm obsessing over the details of _her_ obsession?_

Glancing back to the central ship, he noticed there was a tiny bit of precise white lettering– she had added a ship name, and it was in perfectly rendered turian glyphs. He zoomed in and took a snapshot of it. _It's... the _Valiant Action_ in all her glory,_ he finally realized, recognizing the name as that of a real ship.

He pulled up some information on the ship in question. The _Valiant Action_ had very recently been decommissioned due to irreparable damage to its electrical systems. It had been in dry dock for years– almost a decade– but the problems persisted. The trouble seemingly began when its original captain retired. His replacement had been brutally murdered before setting foot on the bridge, and the ship had never been space-worthy again. There were dozens of conspiracy theorists on the extranet who devoted a lot of attention to the _Valiant_, but one in particular caught his eye.

Someone, for some reason, thought the electrical problems were a pervasive computer virus verging on the complexity of an AI, and this theorist had gone so far as to link the ill-fated Captain Jorick to a series of other murdered turians. _Serial killers usually don't kill their victims' ships, as well, though. More likely an assassin working for someone with an agenda,_ he reasoned, but something about the idea of Shepard having a ship that was even remotely connected to a serial killer felt right in a very disturbing way. _Get a grip, Vakarian,_ he berated himself. _She's your partner._

Still, he decided to take high-res shots of the rest of the ships in case they had names painted on them as well, then he ran a detailed scan, just for good measure. _Plastic ships, steel mounting brackets, epoxy glue, some acrylics– paints and sealants most likely– but what's silicon dioxide doing in there? Memory chips? _His heart raced and he ran a series of RF introduction programs, hoping he'd find the right band to activate the chips– assuming that's what they were.

Finally, he got a ping back, but it was a rejection. The chip was encrypted or something. He was certain he could get through if he could just pry the chip out of the model and take it back to his office. Of course, he'd have to figure out which ship it was hiding in and get it out of the model.

"Damn," he muttered. His curiosity burned, but he didn't want to risk touching the ships, somehow convinced she'd know if he did. He triangulated the signal, just for reference, and was surprised to find that the chip was in a personnel carrier just below the _Valiant Action._ It was small and unimpressive, so he had overlooked it. It looked old, too, which probably meant whatever kind of security the chip had protecting it would be outdated, and the weakest in the collection. Assuming he wasn't just jumping at shadows. A few more minutes of effort with his omni-tool and the processor of his visor yielded results, though. He got a partial copy of the encrypted files. He could sort them out later.

The shower shut off and Garrus realized he hadn't ordered anything yet. He sat down, stacked Shepard's datapads to the side, then pulled out the top file and activated the pad– for cover in case she wondered what he'd been doing– before pulling up a menu from a dextro-friendly restaurant in the neighborhood. He got the order placed and scanned Shepard's C-Sec credit chit moments before she emerged.

One look at how she was dressed made his mandibles flutter before he got them under control but in his state of distraction, the credit chit slipped from his talons and bounced to the floor. By the smirk that suddenly curved her lips, she hadn't missed it, either. _Spirits, what am I getting myself into?_

* * *

Shepard couldn't help but smile at Garrus's reaction when she walked into the room. If he knew humans half as well as he claimed to, he wouldn't be surprised by her choice of a low-cut tank top and a pair of light workout shorts. He might have been surprised by the application of makeup and perfume when considering her very casual clothing, though. But not wearing 'face paint' around a turian was a good way to set him on edge, and the perfume was loaded with pheromones she'd found most turian males responded well to. "Am I under dressed?" she asked, feigning innocence. "A working date doesn't rate a sexy little dress, in my book. You want that again, you're going to have to take me somewhere nice."

"No, you're not... under dressed. Not the way you mean it, anyway," Garrus stiffly answered. "You humans...," he began, finishing the sentence with a series of confused gestures.

"Human skin is the largest sensory organ we've got. Is it surprising we expose more of it when we feel more at ease? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can..."

"No," he interrupted, shoving a datapad at her. "Let's just get to work, Shepard."

She arched an eyebrow at his form of address. She had really expected him to be able to keep his promise to use her first name for a little longer. Not that she could say she was disappointed, it just changed the game a little. "Alright, bring me up to speed,_ Vakarian_," she pointedly requested.

"Spirits. Sorry, Valor. It's hard when we're working."

Shepard smirked at his wording. "I suppose I can't object to that too much," she purred, wondering if he'd understand the innuendo.

Garrus's mandibles flicked once, uneven, "Valor, that's _not_ what I meant."

"Are you objecting so loudly in the hope that I won't hear when your plates shift?" she baited.

"Shepard," Garrus sharply reprimanded. "You said you'd let us take this slow."

She shrugged, not caring if he had a clue how to read it. "I'm not sitting in your lap. This is slow. And I said I'd let you make the first move _if_ you promised to call me Valor. This was supposed to be a semi-social occasion, you know. Technically, Pallin hasn't reinstated me since you wouldn't let me out of the car when we picked up the files."

"I'm sorry. It just feels... too familiar to call you that. And it's a strange name– it actually translates into turian."

"Shepard doesn't?" she asked, knowing for a fact that there was a word for shepard in every turian dialect.

Garrus clicked his talons together and flicked his wrist indicating a mixed response. "Well, it does, but I can actually pronounce 'Shepard' phonetically in whatever human language you speak."

"But you can't say Valor?"

"It's... tricky. I'll get it down eventually."

"Well, you agreed to it, and then you didn't follow through. I'm going to take that as permission to fail to follow through on my half of the bargain."

Garrus's head bobbed– he was upset. "I knew this was a mistake," he muttered. "Are all humans like you, Valor? No, never mind, I know they aren't. Most humans don't have a kink for turians," Garrus angrily stated.

"I'm attracted to _you_, not to 'turians,' Garrus," she replied, trying to sound closer to angry than she felt. "Is that why this bothers you? Because you think I'm just seeing your species and nothing else about you? Did you know humans do that to me all the time because of the color of my hair? How much do you think I hate that?" she rhetorically asked.

"You barely know me, Shepard," Garrus argued. "We've only worked together for a few months."

"That's long enough for humans to begin exploring a relationship," she pointed out.

"It is?" Garrus said, tilting his head in amusement. "No wonder your marriages always end up such a mess."

"Obviously you don't mean _my_ marriages, personally. _I'm_ married to my career, and that's going just fine. But why don't you explain yourself. Do turians do it that differently?" Shepard asked, already knowing the answer. Getting him to talk about it was worth pretending not to be bored through the conversation, though.

"In some regards," he hesitantly began. "Sex isn't a big deal, but unlike humans, we don't assume it's an invitation for any other kind of relationship– even friendship. We don't develop intimate personal relationships with people unless we've known them for years. Bonding takes a lot of time and commitment before courtship begins. If that goes well, after a few years, you end up with a mate."

"So, casual, no-strings-attached sex is okay, what's freaking you out is that I actually _like_ you? That's weird, Garrus."

"No, it isn't," he denied, pulling his mandibles close.

Obviously he felt a bit defensive, and that was probably a good sign. At the very least, he was insecure with his preconceptions about what sort of relationships were desirable or even acceptable.

"I've never really been that big on screwing strangers," he continued, "but I don't even know how what you're calling a relationship would work cross-species. What's it building to? We couldn't actually be bondmates, so what's the point?"

"The point would be to enjoy one another's company and to have a good time together while it lasts. Make good memories, treat each other well, and let it happen naturally without worrying where it's going. That includes letting it _end_ naturally if that's how it works out," Shepard explained. It was difficult to avoid sneering or laughing at the very idea as she said it. _That_ kind of relationship didn't exist. People, regardless of species, were incapable of treating each other well when they thought they had some kind of claim to one another. But it sounded good, and it seemed to work with turian philosophy, so she was happy enough to use it.

"That... sounds intriguing," Garrus admitted. "Is that what humans are trying to do when they go on dates?"

"Some of them," she answered.

"And all of this flirting and, you know– is just you trying to entice me into that kind of relationship with you?"

"Maybe," she answered, hoping she sounded coy and not petulant. Probably didn't matter, she doubted Garrus would be able to discern the difference.

"And for you, that includes sex?"

"I was hoping it might."

"I've been with asari before, but I really... I prefer turian women. I mean, I know you're attractive, I can see that even if I don't take into account how the other humans look at you. And, spirits help me, I've even had some... thoughts... about you that I can't entirely claim to understand."

"Despite what you obviously think about me, I don't have a preference for turians, you know. All of my longstanding relationships have been with humans." Shepard paused for a heartbeat before clarifying, "_Female_ humans. I've fucked a lot of guys, and a few turians, I won't lie, but none of that was something I wanted to hold on to," she confessed, enjoying Garrus's surprise and, if she was reading it correctly, poorly concealed interest. _Now, what's so interesting about _two_ human women when one alone is somewhere between unappealing to repulsive?_ Shepard wondered. She caught herself clenching her jaw, so she forced herself to relax.

Shepard caught his gaze and held it before continuing, "But for some reason, even though you're an arrogant, sexist, entitled know-it-all who won't play by the rules, I feel like I can rely on you. And let's just say I don't trust easily, so take that as a compliment."

"Why? I mean, why do you trust me?" Garrus asked, his subharmonics so soft and subtle that he almost sounded human. Was that reverence? Awe? Shepard hadn't ever heard it before, so she didn't know.

"I don't like how you do things, but you have integrity," she explained. "That means I can always rely on you to be true to who you are, and if I know who you really are, I'll never feel betrayed by anything you do."

"That's... a lot of pressure and expectation, Shep... Valor. I just do what's necessary to keep my conscience quiet. Sometimes all my options are wrong and I just have to do _something_ and hope it turns out to be the right decision."

"Torfan," she stated, snapping her fingers as a positive affirmation since she had no talons to click. "I know what you mean."

"Of course you do," he said, again, with the quiet sub-harmonics.

"Let's get some work done. We can continue this conversation later if you're still interested," she offered, not waiting for a reply before grabbing a datapad and diving in. There were criminals and murderers to catch.

* * *

**A/N: **_Thanks for reading, and thanks to those who reviewed, favorited or followed (that could be you, it'd only take a moment.) Alerts from FFnet always make my day better. And they might make me write faster, too. Who knows?_


	4. Afficionado

The hush that fell over the gallery as Shepard entered brought the tiniest smile to her lips. She quickly studied her surroundings. The crowd was predominantly asari, with a fair number of salarians, and a handful of other aliens. No humans. One turian. Perfect. An asari in catering staff uniform offered her a tray of fluted glasses, which Shepard waved away. Most of the guests had a drink in hand, but the one she was interested in didn't. She wanted a level playing field, and perhaps the decision would draw his attention. It was unlikely, but this game was going to be a challenge, and she needed every possible edge she could get. Drawing Sparatus's attention early would do nothing but help.

The quiet chatter her entrance had interrupted slowly resumed, and after a glance around the gallery, she crossed the large room, silk skirt whispering over her thighs, and heels clicking sharply, to view an angular sculpture that was taller than her by a good measure. It had caught her eye, but mostly she chose that piece because it stood alone and was within the turian Counselor's line of sight.

The staccato sound of her heels on the brushed steel floor cut through the low hum of respectful conversation the rest of the crowd created. She wished she could see how many eyes were on her, and hoped for one specific set in particular. No one would expect to see her here, and she had learned that context was a major factor in whether she was recognized or not. She had faked her invitation, but she had dressed the part so her presence wouldn't be questioned. Her pale blonde hair was swept away from her face and elaborately braided around the crown of her head, and she felt that the short, white dress which left one shoulder bare and sheathed her body in shimmering silk effectively disguised her profession and her identity. The cap sleeve on the other side hid the Alliance tattoo and the recently healed cuts left by Avitus's hand. It was like the designer had made the dress specifically to suit her purposes.

The color she had chosen to wear was flattering on her, but it also had meaning. Most sentient species had static associations with such things, but asari would take the context into account before assigning meaning to the color. At an event like this, it was an invitation or a challenge. Tonight, this dress bordered on offensive, depending on how she conducted herself. She was banking on the fact that humans were usually regarded as crude and backward– generally unaware or uncaring of the customs of other species– to avoid getting thrown out. Most of those present would think nothing of her choice of dress, and if a few did, decorum would demand they keep their disapproval to themselves. She was also counting on the likelihood that Sparatus would be aware of how the asari, particularly the featured artist, would interpret her wardrobe. Of the entire group, she assumed he was the most likely to confront her about it. At the very least, she hoped he would take note of her, maybe scan her identity chip if she was lucky.

The young asari artist being featured couldn't paint and sculpt fast enough to satisfy the demand for her work on Illium, and tonight was her debut on the Citadel. Penephaedra herself was at the heart of the crowd of distinguished guests– most of whom were in attendance merely in the interest of garnering favor with the asari councilor, who was sponsoring the event and was wildly enchanted by the maiden's art. Shepard would have assumed that Sparatus was present to show respect for someone who sat on the Council beside him, but she had recently learned of his fetish for art. Sparatus was here because he was just as taken with Penephaedra as the asari Councilor, if not more.

Shepard turned and moved on to the next piece– this time a painting that was uncharacteristically dark for the collection presented. A delicate red tendril wound through an abstract design that reminded her of an oil slick full of shrapnel, drawing the eye through the painting. It was dull. Honestly, she couldn't see what the fuss was about. She left it behind, heading for a small sculpture that brought her closer to Sparatus.

"Madam," a tense asari voice interrupted, "may I see your invitation, please?"

Shepard arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Excuse me?"

"You see, no, ah... humans... were given invitations," the attendant began explaining, clearly daunted by Shepard's reaction. "And none of the purchased tickets were paid for by..."

"You're right, _I_ didn't purchase a ticket," Shepard interrupted. Shepard smiled mildly and waited.

"If you'll please come with me, Ma'am, you have to leave. This is a private showcase."

"Here's my confirmation number," Shepard stated, activating her bluewire and sending the authorization code– faked, of course– to the usher's 'tool. "It was a gift." Along with the string of numbers, she also sent her ID, just for good measure. She wasn't disappointed.

The asari blinked in surprise, "You're... the hero of the Blitz? My apologies, Commander. Your name wasn't on the guest list, we had no idea..."

"Which was the point, after all," Shepard said, a polite and only slightly forced smile on her lips. "Are we done here?"

"I...," the asari began, her eyes flicking over Shepard's dress, a small frown appearing on her face. "Yes, of course. If you'd like to purchase any of the art, please inform an attendant, or Penephaedra if you wish to speak to the artist in person."

Shepard nodded and turned her attention to the sculpture on the pedestal before her. It was long, flattish, slim and shining silver. It reminded her of a dagger. And of a turian phallus, though it was on the small side to be proportional. She liked it. And it was probably one of the cheapest pieces in the show. Shepard studied it a moment longer, then turned and caught the eye of an attendant. The asari nodded, then made a note on a datapad she held. Shepard's omni-tool chimed, but before she could confirm the sale, a light, clicking tread approached. Shepard smiled and pretended not to notice Sparatus's approach.

"Do you like ships?" his purring, multi-tonal voice mildly enquired.

"What?" Shepard asked, glancing over her shoulder to face him. "Oh, this," she said, gesturing to the sculpture. She cocked her head to the side and made a show of inspecting the art. "This looks like a ship to you?" she asked, wondering at his choice to approach her _now_. Maybe it was a good sign.

"What else?" he asked, also studying the small sculpture.

"Some kind of knife, perhaps. But look at the title– 'Vibitus.' That's a turian name, isn't it? I suppose it must be a ship."

"Huh. No, that's not a ship name, that's... Spirits. Miss, I believe you've just purchased a representation of... certain anatomy of Penephaedra's former lover."

Shepard feigned surprise. "Well. I suppose _you_ have a better base of comparison than I do, but... isn't it a little small?" Sparatus looked away and turned one foot outward– declining to engage in the conversation.

"You know," Shepard began, "it isn't reasonable to hold me responsible for starting an awkward conversation. I thought it was a dagger or something. You didn't have to tell me what it is," Shepard stated, baiting the turian Councilor. "And now I'll never be able to see it as a knife or a ship again," she sighed, activating her omni-tool and cancelling the sale. "Pity. I do like ships."

"You're not buying it?"

"It's a bit over-priced for a steel dildo, don't you think? And I still say the proportions are off."

"You should look at some of the other sculptures, then. I think if you don't buy something soon, Tevos and Penephae are going to have you thrown out, invitation or not. They were upset with the usher who failed to escort you out, but Tevos doesn't want a scene."

"Do they hate humans so much?" she asked, her eyes on the phallic sculpture. She hoped to make him squirm a little, and it seemed to be working. His mandibles were fluttering.

"You're wearing white to an art exhibit," he pointed out. "That's an affront to an asari artist."

Shepard allowed herself to smirk. "Oh, is it?"

"You knew," Sparatus accused, his mandibles flickering to show his confusion. He also shifted his weight forward slightly, indicating a hot temper. "Why are you here, then?" he demanded.

Shepard turned her head to the side, a turian gesture that said she didn't desire a conflict. "It's only a comment on the paintings, which, quite frankly, are garbage." She met his eyes once more. "The sculptures– most of them, anyway– are another matter."

"And what do you like about her sculptures?"

"It would be difficult to generalize about such varied works, don't you think?" Shepard lightly asked. "The thing they share is the craftsmanship, though. Most of them are unimpressive until you realize how she made them. But even poor Vibitus must have taken months and months to grind down and polish to such a lovely shine. And there's not a tool mark anywhere on him. Choosing to carve blocks of steel like that..." Shepard shook her head and trailed off. The sculptures truly were unimpressive except in how they were made, but she suspected that's the only reason Sparatus was present. If he'd ever purchased a painting, she hadn't been able to track the sale, but he owned hundreds of sculptures. Shepard wondered where he kept them all.

"It speaks of deep dedication and determination," the turian said admiringly.

"Or fathomless boredom," Shepard joked, lifting her hand and raising her two smallest fingers to be certain Sparatus understood she wasn't serious. He clicked his talons and flicked his wrist, acknowledging her attempt at humor but making it clear he didn't appreciate it.

"You're a tough audience, even for a turian, Councilor Sparatus," Shepard said lightly, a smile on her lips. "I suppose I should hurry along and see if I can manage to avoid getting thrown out of here before I'm ready to go."

"I didn't introduce myself," Sparatus said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Shepard smiled brightly at him, "You didn't need to, we've met. I'm Valor Shepard," she said, placing one foot behind the other and inclining her head. It was an informal way to introduce herself– practically intimate– and she'd never used her real name for a future target before. It made her heart beat faster in excitement. The stakes had never been so high, and she was looking forward to a long, difficult game before she walked away the winner.

"Shepard?" the turian Councilor snapped, raking his eyes over her. He didn't recognize her. "You're Lieutenant Shepard– the C-Sec warrant officer?" he asked sharply.

Shepard hid her surprise at the venom in his tone. This was going to be more challenging than she anticipated. "Well, tonight I'm off duty. I'd prefer Valor, or Val."

"Indeed. Good evening, Officer. I hope you find something more to your liking."

"I liked this one very much, even knowing what it is, but as I said, the proportions are off," she said with a wink. Even odds that he didn't know what it meant, but she was certain he'd look it up. If she couldn't entice him, she'd settle for provoking him. She had time.

"Whatever your reasons for being here tonight, I believe you've made a huge mistake, Lieutenant."

"Oh?" Shepard asked. Sparatus's candor was promising, and the longer he spoke with her, the longer he was being exposed to the blend of pheromone-laden perfume she wore, in combination with her own altered biochemistry. It wouldn't make him like her, but if she was lucky, it might trigger a biological reaction to her presence. Even if it didn't, it was sure to add more weight to their interaction– he'd probably think of her whenever he was reminded of Penephaedra, possibly whenever he thought of his art collection, since expanding it was the reason for his attendance tonight. There were a lot of possible associations, and she still wasn't ready to rule out the possibility of success after only one meeting. He had approached her, after all, and he was still talking.

"Your superiors are holding you up as a shining example of what humanity has to offer," Sparatus stated.

"That was _their_ choice. And anyone who thinks that of me should know I'm grossly over-trained for police work, yet here I am."

"Well, perhaps they chose poorly if the best of you is so short-sighted."

Shepard tilted her head to the side and planted one hand on her hip, abandoning her attempt to adopt turian body language. There were limits to what she could put up with. She didn't know the exact reason she had been fed into C-Sec by the Alliance, but she assumed it was as much to give her a chance to develop some contacts on the Citadel as it was to get her noticed. But noticed by whom? The Council? That held interesting possibilities. If she was jeopardizing something important for personal pursuits, she needed to re-prioritize. "Are you that offended?"

Sparatus rocked back and flicked his wrist, dismissing her concern. "No, I happen to agree with your assessment of Penephae's paintings, but making such a public and pointed declaration was tactless. Tevos is incensed. It won't aid your career."

"Then I'll have to address that. The best humanity has to offer is anything but tactless, Councilor," she said, trying to keep the smirk off her face. If only he knew. She tipped her head back a little and snapped her fingers– the closest she could manage to clicking talons. It was an informal, but respectful farewell. After a moment's hesitation, Sparatus returned the gesture. As she turned away, she wondered if he would seek her out again or if she would have to initiate their next conversation. Even without glancing over her shoulder, she could feel his eyes on her. Shepard was willing to bet that he would approach her again, and soon.

* * *

Sparatus watched the human woman leave, discreetly, he hoped. He never would have guessed she was the Lieutenant Shepard he so frequently heard about from Executor Pallin. The woman looked too pampered and soft to be an effective peace-keeper, let alone a highly-trained soldier. Perhaps that was why she was so effective. He hoped she wouldn't make an issue of the fact that he hadn't recognized her. It was difficult to tell humans apart, even the females who were at least more distinctive than the males, but admitting that would damage his political image. Shepard was arguably the most notable human currently on the Citadel. If she took a low opinion of him, it wouldn't matter too much, but it would be a nuisance if some reporter got wind of it.

Shepard moved out of his field of vision– assuming he didn't want to turn his head and make it obvious he was watching her. He turned his attention back to the art in front of him and realized with distaste that he was still planted in front of Vibitus. That was fine. It was time to move on, anyway. He wanted to see how Shepard planned to soothe Tevos. Unfortunately, the sculpture nearest Shepard's destination was the one he had been looking at just before he approached her. Flicking his wrist, he decided that was where he wanted to be anyway. Who would think anything of it if he revisited a display?

Sparatus positioned himself so he could discreetly watch Shepard as she worked her way to the center of the crowd surrounding Penephaedra. It was a pity he couldn't hear her better, but it would have to be enough to see the exchange unless he wished to make an excuse to speak with Tevos.

Finally, Shepard reached her goal. Tevos shot her a stern scowl, but stood aside for Penephaedra. The artist was tense and clearly upset– her eyes kept flicking away from Shepard's face and down to her dress. White like a blank canvas. It was usually interpreted as a statement that the wearer was unmoved by the artist's work– an invitation to leave an impression. A very bold move on Shepard's part, and he was no longer of the opinion that she didn't understand and mean every nuance of the situation, excepting, perhaps, Tevos's attachment to Penephaedra and this event. It was possible that the asari Councilor didn't know who Shepard was, and Sparatus certainly wasn't going to tell her, but Shepard's brazen approach would prompt Tevos to look into the human's identity. He watched, convinced the human wasn't going to be able to salvage the situation with Tevos.

But Shepard ignored the Councilor and focused on the artist. Shepard spoke with animated gestures, and Penephaedra's eyes widened, then she smiled and laughed. Tevos relaxed, but looked no less perturbed, though her ire seemed to be shifting from the lieutenant to the artist at her side. Penephaedra's tension melted away and she happily conversed with the human, though her eyes still occasionally drifted away from Shepard's face. Curiosity got the better of him, and he abandoned the sculpture he stood beside, working his way toward Tevos. No one would question that, except perhaps Shepard if she was half as canny as he was beginning to think she must be.

"...I just couldn't when he told me. I hope you understand. It's a beautiful piece, but a very pathetic specimen, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, no need to explain, I know _exactly_ what you mean, Valor. That was the whole point, actually," the artist said with a mischievous smile that reflected Shepard's.

The human sobered. "He also mentioned that I might have offended you."

"Oh?" Penephaedra asked, feigning ignorance.

"I just wanted to get your attention," Shepard confessed. "My cultural encyclopedia was apparently drawing from some rather antiquated sources."

"What a relief," Penephaedra sighed. "I was mortified. I suppose I should call security and tell them _not_ to throw you out," the artist said with a devilish smirk as she glanced to Tevos at her side.

"Please do!" Shepard exclaimed, looking alarmed. "I haven't gotten to see a tenth of the show, yet, and my one purchase attempt was an utter disappointment. It's been an honor to speak with you. Thank you for giving me a little of your time, Penephaedra."

"It's Penephae, please. Valor, could I possibly entice you to model for me? I haven't done figure studies in such a long time, and never humans, but I have to admit that you intrigue me. You're a decorated soldier, a hero, but you carry yourself with such poise and grace. Now that I know who you are, I can see the tells of a military life, but it's blended with such refinement. It seems like a paradox to me."

"Send me a message and we can discuss that. Are you certain you're not rising to my unintentional challenge, Penephae?"

Penephaedra laughed, "Perhaps I am. I suppose those old codices might have been right after all– I'm finding the experience of being challenged holds a delightful savor. I hope you'll indulge me."

The human reached out and smoothly caressed the inside of the artist's forearm, then lifted Penephaedra's hand to her lips and placed a kiss on pale blue fingertips. "Send me a message, Penephae," Shepard repeated. Judging by how the artist's cheeks and neck darkened, and how wide Tevos's eyes had become, the human had absolutely succeeded.

Sparatus hid his amusement. Perhaps this human would be worth getting to know a little better. She had proven more entertaining and intelligent than any other member of her species he'd met.


	5. Model

Shepard rolled onto her back and stretched. "Valor, I wasn't done," Penephaedra chastised.

"Draw faster, Penny. It's cold in here and I'm bored. Or better yet, take some pictures and draw them up later."

"I was thinking of painting you," the asari stated as she flipped to a fresh page in the large sketch book on her lap and began drawing the new pose. "I need to sketch you first, though. I do plan on taking some holos, but this part of the process is vital. Goddess, I still can't get over how smooth your skin is," the artist commented, sketching furiously.

"Are you kidding? I have goose bumps," Shepard complained as she slid off the cushioned bench, dragging the artful drape of cloth Penephaedra had arranged to spill to the floor out of position and wrapping it around herself for warmth. "You're going to have to do something to warm me up if you want me to keep sitting for you."

"I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable," Penephaedra said, closing the sketch book. She seemed genuinely concerned. "I get a little carried away sometimes."

"Come show me some of those sketches?" Shepard requested, sitting on the bench.

"Oh, of course," the artist said with a shy smile. The asari hesitated before sitting next to Shepard. "Let's see," she mumbled, flipping through the book. "This one is my favorite," she said, handing the book to Shepard.

Shepard studied the rendition of her own body. Her face was partially obscured by her hair, but the resemblance was still obvious. If not for that detail, she might not have recognized herself on the page. Penephaedra had chosen not to include Shepard's scars or the Alliance tattoo on her shoulder. It annoyed her that those details were left out while her hair and other features were so finely detailed, but she buried the sentiment. "You're really good, Penny."

"You sound surprised," the artist said with a nervous laugh.

"Most of your work is so abstract," Shepard explained. "I'm not sure what I expected, but this is very nuanced and realistic."

"You really don't like my paintings, do you?"

Shepard shrugged. "Maybe you should try something a bit different. I realize there's not much market for uncommissioned portraiture, but showing your versatility has to be a good thing. People will have more respect for what you choose to paint instead of assuming you simply can't paint anything else," Shepard said, slowly paging through several renditions of herself. The first few were drawn while she was still mostly clothed, yet Penephaedra had fairly successfully rendered her nude, though her musculature was less defined than in the later sketches. "And who knows," Shepard continued when the artist made no reply, "if someone like Councilor Tevos knows you could paint her portrait, maybe she'd pay you to do it."

"My agent says that kind of thing will destroy the impact of my abstract pieces, though."

"Well, I'm just a soldier. Your agent probably knows best. But what if you found a way to incorporate your signature abstraction into other types of work?" Shepard asked, continuing to flip through the book. Aside from her, Penephaedra had sketched a lot of landscapes, city-scapes, plants, and a random assortment of inanimate objects. There were no other people represented in the book. Shepard found herself flattered. "I really like these sketches," she said, turning back to a set of close-up studies of what she thought was some kind of electronic device. "You use negative space and light so well."

"It's nothing. You just let your focus soften a bit, then leave the highlights less detailed than the shadows. Or reverse that to spice things up."

"There's probably a reason I make a living shooting things and taking orders and you get to create beauty and express yourself."

"Nonsense. You collect art, don't you? I mean, you came to the show."

Shepard shook her head, "I don't have room for anything like that. Living light is pretty much a requirement for someone like me. Everything I need fits in a rucksack. And, to be shamefully honest, ship models are more in my price range than one of your sculptures. I do appreciate beautiful things, though."

Penephaedra smiled coyly, taking her statement as flirting. "Oh, you like ships?" the asari said, feigning innocence.

"I grew up on ships," Shepard stated. She _had _lived in and been posted to a few colonies, and of course she'd spent some time on Earth during Interplanetary Combative Training while she earned her N1 designation, but all that seemed like time she was waiting to get to where she belonged. She had never felt at home except on a ship. Maybe that was why she was getting so edgy lately.

"That sounds so exciting," Penephaedra said dreamily.

"It was," Shepard lied. It _should_ have been. The exciting parts had been shore leave, planet-side excursions, and temporary posts on stations while the ship was in dry dock for repairs or upgrades or something. But ships were still home, lack of excitement or not. "Did you get what you needed? Should I put my clothes back on?"

"I need some holos. I hope this isn't rude, but I want a reference of your tattoo and all those scars. You've given me an idea for a painting, but I want it to be accurate."

"You really just want to see me start shivering. Sadist," Shepard playfully accused. "Come on, then," she invited, throwing the cloth covering her aside, "get it over with."

Penephaedra stood a little too quickly, but she smiled, "Thank you, Valor. Go ahead and lie down again, that's right, on your stomach first." The asari lightly brushed Shepard's hair forward over her shoulder. "Humans have such lovely hair. Well, you do, anyway. It feels like strands of silk. Is this color natural?"

"On me it is. A lot of humans chemically lighten their hair. You can usually tell by the eyebrows. For some reason bottle blondes don't seem to think anyone will pick up on the discrepancy."

"It's beautiful. I can understand why they'd want to mimic it. Put your arm under your head for me and turn this way a little. Perfect," Penephaedra praised, snapping a few holos. "Do you think you could just move through the poses we did earlier? Do you remember? I should have done this before each sketch. I'm so out of practice with people."

"I think I can manage," Shepard said, shifting to the next position, waiting for the sound of Penephaedra's equipment, then moving to the next. Occasionally, Penephaedra made a small adjustment or changed the lighting. Twice, she tucked Shepard's hair away from her face or her tattoo. Both times, the asari's skin darkened and Shepard let herself smirk. The holos took far less time than even one of the sketches, for which Shepard was very grateful. She was beyond bored, but unless she missed her mark, it wasn't likely she'd be getting out of Penephaedra's temporary studio for quite some time yet.

"That's all, Valor," Penephaedra said, setting her equipment on a large desk. The asari hadn't changed the dramatic lighting back to normal, and Shepard didn't miss the fact that the camera was still pointed directly at the bench. There was no indication that it was still running, but she was certain of it, nonetheless. "Thank you so much for this. Are you still cold?" the artist coyly asked, slinking closer to the bench as she slipped out of the jacket she wore over her floor-length gown.

Shepard nodded, holding the asari's gaze. Recording her image was one thing. Recording her voice was another.

"Earlier, it sounded like you were hoping I'd warm you up personally," Penephaedra stated, gracefully sitting beside Shepard once more and lightly skimming her hand over the human's knee to rest on her bare thigh.

Shepard smiled, then reached out to caress the asari's cheek and pulled her gently forward, kissing her sweetly. Penephaedra moaned appreciatively and climbed onto the bench, pushing Shepard onto her back. Shepard broke the kiss and put her lips next to the artist's ear, speaking in the barest whisper, "Just sex. If you try to meld, I have to go. Military secrets," she explained. Part of her hoped for some kind of argument from Penephaedra, but the asari was undeterred. Shepard wasn't getting out of it, so she decided she'd have some fun with this little artist, this pet of Councilor Tevos. The camera was really going to bring out the exhibitionist in her, she realized with a smile as she smoothly flipped herself atop the asari, evoking a startled cry from her partner. Oh, yes, this would be fun.

* * *

Garrus played the vid again. The lighting made it difficult to tell whether it was actually Shepard or not. He was pretty sure, based on her build and coloring, but the woman never spoke loud enough for her voice to be picked up and her hair seemed to be constantly obscuring her face. He kept his focus on identifying the human woman, but he still felt his plates shift in response to what was happening on the screen. _What's going on with me? I've _never_ thought asari were that attractive, and humans..._,he shook his head, fully aware that he was still aroused. By the end of the clip, he still wasn't absolutely certain it was Shepard and his plates were loose enough to rattle when he stood up. Damn.

_So, now what are you going to do? Call and ask if it's really _her_ screwing that asari painter? Why do you care, Vakarian? You told her you're not really into humans. Stupid to expect a woman like her to wait around just in case you change your mind, _he angrily thought. He flexed his mandibles and his breath rumbled in his chest. He cared because Shepard had succeeded in getting his attention, and if it was her in the vid, it meant she was just toying with him, probably had been all along.

If she knew he was suspicious and she actually did have something to hide, maybe she was just trying to get close so she could keep an eye on him. It made sense, but it didn't feel right. This time, Garrus wasn't sure his instincts were unclouded by his ego, though, so he couldn't completely dismiss the possibility.

He closed his extranet connection, promising himself he'd confront Shepard about it in a few days if reporting on the little 'scandal' surrounding the vid didn't eventually answer his questions. He wasn't optimistic. So far, no one really seemed to care that it might be Shepard. Everyone was more intent on the artist whose recent gallery showing had been sponsored by the asari Councilor. The embarrassed artist had enjoyed a boost in popularity at the cost of a little dignity and refused to comment, while Councilor Tevos had announced that she had selected seven more artists to feature on the Citadel over the next several months– an obvious attempt to distance herself from Penephaedra in the eyes of the media by making the artist only the first of many who were to benefit from her appreciation for art.

Neither the Alliance, nor C-Sec cared about Shepard's involvement. The only possible angle he had to make anyone stop and take note was how Shepard, or the woman who was rumored to be Shepard, treated the painter. The woman was domineering, demanding, and inconsiderate. The asari didn't seem to mind the abuse in the least, however, so whether the human's conduct was acceptable or not wasn't being questioned by the many who thought it was their place to comment on the incident. The one instance in which the asari protested, the human immediately backed off and waited for an invitation to re-initiate before making another move. The whole thing looked staged, now that he thought about it. It probably wasn't Shepard after all.

He really did have better things to do than digitally stalk Shepard, and he would get to them– just as soon as he checked up on his VI's progress cracking the encryption on the files he had pulled out of Shepard's model ship. He hadn't expected much, but was pleasantly surprised to find that about three quarters of the files were uncorrupted, and half of those were decrypted already. There were a few vids, some holos, and what looked like police reports and arrest records, even some personal correspondence. _Spirits, what is all this?_ he asked himself as he noted the file names, and more importantly, the dates. _Ten years ago... almost exactly._

He opened a file at random. A vid message from someone named Jack Harrow to a Hannah Shepard. Valor's mother? He enabled audio and sat back to watch. The human male had Shepard's eyes and though his hair was darker than Valor's, Garrus thought it would still be called blond by other humans. It was hard to tell, but he thought the man would probably be considered attractive, even though he was obviously a bit past his prime. It was a pity humans aged so poorly. Coloring aside, the man wore a smirk that he had definitely seen on Valor. Could they be related? The man started speaking, so Garrus stopped wondering and listened.

"_You made a threat you didn't think you'd have to carry out, didn't you, Hannah? Well, I'll play along and take the kid, but I'm not doing it for you, and don't think for a minute that I'm going to coddle her. I don't know how you've raised her, but if you can't handle her and you don't think she's tough enough to handle me, I think you messed up."_

Interesting. The message supported his theory that this Jack Harrow was related– possibly her father– and that Hannah Shepard was indeed Shepard's mother, if he assumed the 'kid' was Valor. By the date stamp, Valor would have barely turned sixteen. Humans were still under parental guardianship at that age, if he remembered correctly. He queued the rest of the vid messages in the cluster to play sequentially, eager to learn more.

The next message was from Hannah to Jack a few days later. Valor's mother looked a lot like her, too. Same refined features, blonde hair cut short to curl around her neck and jaw, but dark brown eyes instead of Shepard's stunning green.

"_I know I messed up with her, Jack. She's been wreaking havoc on my ship for three damn years and she's finally gone far enough that I'm seriously worried about her. If she keeps this behavior up," _Hannah sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. _"Just read the damned file I'm sending so you know what the hell you're dealing with. Do it before I drop her off, too, or she's going to make you regret ever setting eyes on me."_

Jack's reply was stamped only a few minutes later:

"_That ship's sailed, Sweetheart."_

Hannah had nothing to say to that. The next message was also from Jack, about a week later.

"_Valor is settling in fine, Hannah. I didn't get around to looking at your file on her, yet, but she's been great so far. She won't talk about why you shipped her off to me, but you made the right call. And why didn't you tell me she's a biotic and a tech savant? Honestly, Hannah, the girl's gifted. I told her she can stay with me as long as she wants. It's obvious she doesn't like Mindoir, but I get the feeling she's going to take me up on that offer until she's old enough to enlist."_

Now Garrus was very curious. What kind of havoc could Shepard have been raising that would have justified her mother sending her away to someone who was clearly a complete stranger? And he really wanted to see that file Hannah had put together to warn Jack about Valor. First, he'd get through the play list. He'd already gotten more new information about Shepard from this decade-old conversation than his weeks of research had yielded.

Hannah's face appeared. She looked tired and _very_ angry. _"She goes by Justine, not Valor. She will not be allowed to enlist, Jack! Her first term starts in two months, and she _will_ be on Elysium and ready to attend on the first goddamned day! If you keep her there, I will drag you to court over this. She is not fit for the Alliance."_

Not fit for the Alliance? Valor Shepard bled silver and blue, and not just because military life was the only thing she was suited for. Her time with C-Sec had proven that her talents were as valuable in an interview or interrogation, or detecting, repelling, and countering a cyber attack as they were on the front lines. And that was completely ignoring her interpersonal skills. Shepard knew how to get what she wanted, how to make people like her. Hell, it was even working on him, and she had made his mandibles twitch since the first day he met her. Could that have been the trait that caused her mother problems, her charm? And where did 'Justine' come from? Her service record clearly stated 'Valor Shepard,' listing no middle name or other aliases. He made a mental note to expand his search to include the name from now on.

Next message. Carefully controlled panic shone from Hannah's eyes and her voice was brittle. _"My God, Jack, I hope you get this. I just heard about the attack and I'm on my way, so hold on. Keep Justi safe. Please, just hold on. Don't let them take her."_

Of course, Mindoir. He hadn't been aware that Shepard was present for the infamous raid, but it shouldn't have surprised him. It did make him wonder what her father was doing in such an out-of-the-way colony. He didn't look like a farmer, his bearing was definitely military.

"_We made it out, which is more than I can say for the rest of the colony."_ Jack's next message began. _"I'm really sorry we left without checking in with you first, but I got orders while your marines were still mopping up and we had to go. Valor is exactly what the Alliance is looking for, Hannah. Between her omni-tool and her biotics, she could have kept the batarians off us for months without even touching a gun, and she's not a bad shot, either when it comes to that. As soon as your marines showed up, we went on the offensive, thanks to her. The bastards cleared out too fast for us to get to their ship, but Val could have kept them grounded until the cavalry arrived if we'd been quicker. With some combat training, I could have taken her in with me before the SSV Einstein even showed up and saved your men going through hell for nothing. I'm taking her to Illium with me, and you can drag us through court, but if you do, I'll be calling in some favors. If she wants to enlist, she's going to, Hannah. The Alliance needs people like her."_

"_Did you at least read the goddamned file I sent you, Jack? No, never mind, you obviously haven't or you'd agree with me and keep her out of the military,"_ came Hannah's curt reply.

Well, that was a strange way to express relief at the news that one's child and apparent former lover had survived a raid by slavers. If Garrus was to judge by this conversation, Shepard had inherited her father's charm along with his eye color. He flipped through the files, hoping to find the one Hannah kept telling Jack he needed to see. His breath rattled in frustration when he found it on the list of corrupted files. Maybe he could get a clean copy if he went back to Shepard's apartment. If he went to pick her up for work, he wouldn't have to try and set up another so-called date. He glanced at the time and swore. It would have to wait, he was supposed to be sitting at his desk and ready to work in five minutes. Even if Shepard hadn't left her apartment yet, she wasn't likely to leave him alone long enough to get the file. Late again, thanks to Shepard.

* * *

Sparatus paced, occasionally glancing at the half-unwrapped parcel on his desk. He still couldn't believe it, but he wasn't sure what aspect of the gift left him more stunned– the subject of the painting and numerous sketches, or the artist behind them. He had expected some kind of response from Lieutenant Shepard, that was why he'd purchased _Vibitus_ and had it sent to her in the first place. Even so, this was beyond anything he had imagined, and he had no clue how to interpret it, particularly in light of the sex tape 'scandal' she was supposedly involved in. His staff couldn't confirm that it was actually her in the vid, but considering this gift, he thought it was likely.

Each sketch was clearly of Shepard. He could tell even without pulling up a holo of her on the extranet for comparison. The painting was somewhat less obviously her, but next to the sketches and considering the light gold hair of the figure, he had absolutely no doubt about the identity of the subject.

In the painting, the woman's smooth, pale curves were slashed with a chaotic pattern of deep blue. _Alliance_ blue. Her hand covered her shoulder, where bright silver light shone between her fingers, casting shadows across her skin, and more dark blue bled down her arm.

But humans bleed red. Why did Penephaedra paint what looked like wounds and blood blue on a human? After a few moments of studying the painting, the shapes began to lose context. It looked more and more like an abstract jumble. Then he blinked, and it was Valor Shepard again. Naked, covered in slashes, and bleeding as if she was a turian with hemocyanin in her blood instead of hemoglobin. Surely, the artist didn't mean to draw that parallel. It was likely a reference to Shepard's devotion to the Alliance, but could the human be _that_ loyal? He focused on the figure underneath all the blue. Did she really look like that without her clothes on? How could she? She actually looked good.

He returned his focus to the realism of the sketches. The texture of the heavy paper was pleasant, and it held Shepard's scent– probably perfume– as if she'd spent some time handling the sketches herself. The perfume hadn't made an impression on him at the art show, but he recognized it unmistakably as Shepard's. He supposed he'd been distracted at the gallery, but some part of him had apparently noted the scent anyway.

The drawing on the page was light, but heavy shadows were hinted at with skillful strokes and smudges. It was a dramatic effect, even though it was clearly not a finished work. He had seen pictures of unclothed humans before, but they were educational– part of xenobiology studies and medical texts. _Those_ humans looked repulsive. But these sketches were... beautiful.

She was so very alien, but her body flowed– bone and muscle showing beneath supple, impossibly thin skin, every line fitting naturally with the others and drawing his eye from head to toe and back. She was a river, laid out on the bench– a stream tumbling into a waterfall on the next page as she sat with one leg tucked under her, her graphite gaze holding his attention.

On the next page, she laid on her stomach. Her back was arched, her face pointed to the heavens. The lines of her body looked different and he realized Penephaedra had actually captured the flex of her muscles in this pose. He studied it, noting the differences between this portrayal and the others. Her rib cage was clearly defined just above where her torso rose from the floor, and her breasts stood out against the background in profile. Her buttocks were rounder and looked firmer than in the other drawings, and the long lines of muscle in her legs were more defined, and her feet– why did humans have such flexible feet? The arch between heel and toes reminded him of the sweep of her back, and his gaze traveled over her body once more.

He wanted to look at the rest of the sketches again, but he forced himself to set them aside. By now, Shepard probably knew he had received the package. He needed to respond. But how could he respond to a message he didn't understand? No, it couldn't be that complex, humans weren't that sophisticated. And Shepard seemed to have a good grasp of other cultures, so she probably knew what it would look like to him.

Sparatus flicked his mandibles. If she was turian, he'd contact her to set a private meeting, buy her a few drinks and take her to a room on some part of the Citadel that didn't have cameras on every corner. But she wasn't turian, she was human– a human who had carelessly allowed her recent affair with an asari artist to become very public.

He stilled his flickering mandibles, dismissing his uncertainty. He was an ambassador of sorts, after all, and it was his job to understand all the species of note in the galaxy. Humans were intent on carving out a place for themselves next to the council races whether they deserved it or not. He should definitely get to know one of them better, and who could top the soldier the Alliance seemed to think was worthy of joining the ranks of the Spectres? It seemed unlikely that Shepard would jeopardize her career by trying to turn polite social overtures into something inappropriately personal if he approached her platonically. She was, without a doubt, the most interesting human he'd met. He was looking forward to getting to know her better.


	6. Scandal

Garrus did his best not to draw any attention as he entered the office. Shepard was already going over the case files for the day. Of course she was on time. She was always on time. "Morning, Shepard," he said.

She didn't look up. "Traffic?" she asked.

"Late start. I was working on something and lost track of time."

Shepard set aside the datapad and pulled a plastic tube from her desk drawer. "I have something for you," she said, holding it out to him. "Don't open it until you get home, though," she said with a wink.

"Uh, thanks. Should I worry?"

"Think of who you're talking to, of course you should worry," she said, raising her fingers to show him she was joking. "Look out, boss is coming," she whispered. "Put that away," she demanded, glancing pointedly to the cylinder in his hand. Garrus was worried by that, and he set the package aside, hoping it wouldn't be noticed.

"Shepard," Executor Pallin said sharply as he approached their desks. "I want an explanation for this," he said, lifting his omni-tool and playing a short clip of the infamous vid that was featured on the gossip page of one of the Citadel's many daily news feeds. Garrus tried not to look pleased, but Pallin bringing up the topic was _perfect_. He'd get the answers he wanted without having to ask for them himself.

Shepard watched the clip stoically until Pallin's mandibles began to twitch. "Looks like tabloid fodder, Sir," she finally offered. "They must be getting desperate if they're willing to run a story about some obscure artist's love life. Aren't there any celebrities on the Citadel for them to bother? I don't see how they can call it a sex scandal, either. Penephaedra doesn't have a bondmate. Do people really expect her to be celibate?"

"Funny. They say it's Officer Valor Shepard with her. _Officer_, not lieutenant. That's a reflection on C-Sec, when the Alliance should be suffering from this scandal."

"Honestly? If anything, they should call me detective, or warrant officer. I think it's sloppy reporting and reflects most poorly on, what paper is that? Nebula Chronicle. And still I think 'scandal' is over-selling it. Why would anyone care? Maybe if I were a politician or a diplomat or something, but I'm just a political ploy to keep the Alliance from complaining too loudly about humans only having an associate membership with the Council."

"You should consider how this represents your species, Shepard," Pallin continued drily, ignoring Shepard's assessment. "It's unfortunate. I don't know why the Council let your people force us to take you, but I suspect they'll reverse the decision in light of this."

"I hope not, Sir. I'd miss working with Vakarian, and I think we're close to a breakthrough on the black market leather. Vakarian thinks there may even be a connection to..."

"Yes, you two definitely get results," Pallin interrupted. "If you'd gotten the position through correct channels, I'd be inclined to fight to keep you, Shepard. You're good. Of course, if you were here because you'd earned it like everyone else in C-Sec, I wouldn't have to. Get those cases in order so Vakarian doesn't have to clean up your mess if you get reassigned."

Before she could reply, Shepard's omni-tool chimed and a red holo-alert flashed above her wrist. "This is marked priority, please excuse me," she said, stepping away from them.

"That was quicker than I anticipated," Pallin said under his breath, and Garrus's heart sank, fearing the Executor might be right. They both listened intently to the call. If Shepard minded or even noticed, she made no move to prevent their eavesdropping.

"Councilor Sparatus," Shepard said, making Pallin's mandibles hang uneven in disbelief. "What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

"Lieutenant Shepard," Sparatus greeted. "I received your gift. Your generosity was unexpected, and undeserved."

_Gift? _Garrus wondered. _Why would Shepard be sending gifts to the turian Councilor? _His curiosity was clearly shared by Executor Pallin, whose face was no longer lop-sided, but he was far from composed. Made sense. Who would have expected Shepard to be on friendly terms with Sparatus?

"Nonsense," Shepard dismissed. "It was the least I could do to repay you. I hope you approved of the subject?"

"It's quite the conversation starter. In fact, that's why I called. I was hoping you'd agree to meet with me. It's short notice, but perhaps you'd have lunch with me this afternoon?"

"I'd be honored. I'll clear my schedule," Shepard promised, glancing momentarily to Pallin, who clicked his talons, signaling his approval. "Councilor, I hesitate to bring this up, but are you certain you want to associate with me?"

"Why not? Because of that vid the news claims is you? That's nothing," he dismissed, almost sounding offended.

"Well, I did my best to soothe Penephaedra's wounded pride, as you suggested. I wouldn't want anyone thinking humans have no tact, after all, but it seems to have had some... unexpected results. I'm surprised she went so far, but I'm glad it isn't going to be a problem."

"It might have been, but my best people couldn't make a positive ID except on the artist and I'm confident no one else will be able to either. It was clearly a publicity stunt on her part. A good one, quite frankly. Now, forgive me, I have an appointment. I'll send a car to pick you up in four hours," Sparatus said, lifting his head slightly in farewell.

"See you then, Councilor," Shepard said, mirroring his gesture.

Garrus stepped forward as soon as the connection closed. "I think this whole conversation has been wildly inappropriate, Sir," he said to Pallin, trying not to let his amusement show. "In my opinion, Shepard would be well within her rights to file a complaint."

"Garrus, you don't need to defend me," Shepard stated, flashing him a smile that told him she appreciated his efforts.

"It doesn't need to come to that," Pallin sighed. "I apologize for prying into your private affairs, Shepard. It's not every day one of my officers is involved in something so high-profile, but if Councilor Sparatus can put it behind him, so can I."

"I'm not worried about it. It's not like I did anything wrong," she calmly reasoned. "If that's everything, we've just wasted nearly half an hour on this."

Pallin clicked his talons in agreement before heading back toward his office. "C-Sec could use more of Councilor Sparatus's goodwill, but I trust this won't interfere with your solve rate, Shepard," he said as he walked away, effectively excusing her from the office as long as the work got done.

Garrus had to admire how Shepard managed to neither confirm nor deny that it was her in the vid, but he wanted a straight answer. Call it stubbornness, but he felt the need to hear it from her directly. At least he didn't have to bring it up without any kind of lead-in. It was a start.

"Unnecessary though it was, thanks for stepping in. I came in today expecting you to interrogate me about that vid," Shepard said, smiling at him.

"Actually, so did I," he admitted. "How about I interrogate you on how you know Councilor Sparatus, instead?"

Shepard rolled her eyes and Garrus suppressed a shudder. That was the _creepiest_ human expression he'd seen. Made his plates itch. "I was introduced to the Council when I got this assignment, Garrus," she said.

"That's it? And now he's taking you to lunch?"

"I bumped into him at an art show. Seems I made an impression."

"An _art show_? Penephaedra's gallery?"

"As it happens."

"Uh-huh. And what did you send him?"

"I promise it wasn't as good as what I got for you," the smirking human said, her eyes flicking to the package she had forbidden him to open until he got home.

"I can't wait to open it. So, you went to Penephaedra's art show, then a week and a half later this crazy recording gets released to the press. What's a guy to think?"

"You just couldn't resist, could you? You had to ask. I don't actually owe you an answer, you realize?"

"I'm curious, it's my nature. We both know it, so let's just get it out of the way, alright? I'm not going to tell anyone, but I have to know, is it really you in the vid?"

"It's not what it looks like, Garrus," she said, lowering her voice. "I went to her show and ended up offending her– just by wearing a white dress. Sparatus told me what it meant and that the asari Councilor was pissed since she sponsored the show and was probably screwing the artist– or at least wanted to. When I tried to apologize, Penephaedra got me to commit to... making it up to her. I had no idea what she planned, but I think she was using me to get Tevos to leave her alone."

"And some little artist cornered you into having sex with her?" he asked, suddenly distressed by the idea, but his mental picture of Shepard being coerced the way she described didn't resemble the vid in the least. "No, I'm not buying it," he denied. "I've seen the whole vid. Maybe if your roles were reversed, I'd believe it, but..."

"Believe what you want," Shepard interrupted. "She set me up and I couldn't have turned her down without major repercussions, so I went with it. If you saw the whole vid, you know it was completely one-sided, and you can't tell me it didn't seem staged," she challenged.

"That's true," he had to concede. "So, this happened right after you got out of the hospital? That show was only two days later." Garrus quickly tallied the days. The vid might have been recorded a week ago at most. And why did it get under his plates so much that she hadn't said anything about any of it to him? They weren't that close, and he probably would have been surprised if she _had_ told him about her encounter with the artist, but it still rankled.

"It was just a few days ago," she said, seeming resigned. "I wanted to tell you, Garrus, but I didn't know how. And then the vid surfaced. I still can't fucking believe it. I'm just grateful that she never got a clear shot of my face. I don't want you to think I was just leading you on or something. I know humans make a bigger deal of sex than turians or asari, but I can't help but feel like I shouldn't have let it happen."

Garrus studied Shepard's expression. She had broken eye contact as soon as he expressed his disbelief in her explanation. Now, her eyebrows were bunched together and her lips were pressed thin. It looked a bit like anger, but not quite. He really needed more practice reading humans. Using pupil motion, he took a short video clip with his visor to analyze later. "I'm sorry I asked," he said. That got Shepard's attention. Her eyes locked on his and this time he had no doubts that she was angry now.

"Bullshit, you're not sorry. You may not like my answer but you know it's the truth."

"Maybe," he conceded. And now he was back to feeling guilty and angry about what had happened. As if being pressured into sex with a stranger wasn't enough, now the vid had been made public. She was handling the humiliation remarkably well, but now that he thought of it, she _did_ seem a bit off. His mandibles flared as every protective instinct he had screamed at him to _do_ something, but of course there was no way for him to help at this point. It was too late.

"Why do you care?" Shepard demanded, once again correctly reading every nuance of his expression and tone. "You never bothered to call me after you brought me home from the hospital and every time I've brought up another date you shut me down."

"You're my partner, Shepard."

"Don't give me that. I just answered every single question you had for me. I trusted you, Garrus. At least try and reciprocate."

She was right. She deserved more from him, and pushing her away wasn't going to serve anyone. "I've had a lot to think about lately, Valor," he began. "And we work well together, which is notable because I don't exactly keep partners very long. Potentially ruining that for a bit of off-duty recreation... well it didn't seem worth it."

"It _didn't... _past tense?" she tentatively, hopefully asked.

Maybe it was the guilt he was feeling, but he found himself actually wanting to give her a real chance. Of course, there would have to be some ground rules. "If you'll stop screwing asari artists or turian diplomats or whatever else comes your way, yeah, past tense. You're growing on me," he added, surprised to realize that it was entirely true. Sure, he was still convinced something was up with her, and he intended to keep looking until he figured out exactly what it was about her that made his plates itch and his mandibles flicker, but he _did_ like her. Watching her with someone else had proven that to him almost as much as the thought of her on a date with the turian Councilor.

"Wow. That was a little out of line. I turn down plenty, Garrus," she said, turning away.

"So 'rough sex with a stranger' isn't on your list of things to do today? Save that for your days off, do you?"

Shepard shot him a dark glare over her shoulder, "I save that for special occasions when I need a serious pick-me-up after the asshole I was hoping to impress makes me feel like I'm something revolting. I thought turians had a more liberal attitude about sex than humans, but why don't you just come out and call me a slut, since that's clearly what you think of me."

Garrus was caught off guard by the hurt tones in her otherwise hostile retort. Guilt blunted his anger and softened his subharmonics, "I didn't mean it that way, and I'm not bargaining, Valor. I just meant... do what you have to do, but be honest with me. If you can do that, I think I'm ready to give us a real chance."

"I think I'd really like that, but you have _got _to work on your people skills. You're an expert at finding the most off-color remark and running with it."

"But you want to give us a chance too?" he prompted.

"Would I put up with all your shit if I didn't?" she countered. He _thought_ she was joking, or at least half-joking.

"Okay. In light of that, how likely is it you'll cancel lunch with Councilor Sparatus?"

"It's social suicide if I do, so not a chance, Garrus. Don't worry, I'm confident he's just trying to make a human connection so he can say he has one. He wasn't impressed with my sexy little dress at the art show."

"Funny you should mention that. Personally, I like your uniform better. Or riot gear," he added, surprised by the raw tones in his subharmonics. Well, what of it? She looked good in armor. Noticing that was nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Like you've seen me in riot gear," she scoffed.

"You were on the Special Response team that took out that sand pit in the warehouse district. That was my case, Shepard. Of course I saw you. That whole bust would have gone to hell without you." He didn't add that he'd been on the team that had reviewed Special Response's performance when complaints about police brutality were made by the perpetrators. Those charges had been dropped and cleared from the official records, but Shepard had cut it dangerously close. At the time, it was assumed her conduct was a reflection of her ICT training, and when judged as a soldier, she was by the books. If she'd been reprimanded, he hadn't heard about it, and she hadn't been moved out of Special Response until a few months later. Nothing to do with the incident.

"I stand corrected," Shepard said, tilting her head as she looked at him. "Anyway, not all turians are as repressed as you are."

"Sparatus used your Alliance rank and then asked you to lunch. Trust me, he's one of the repressed ones, and he wouldn't be wasting his time on you if he wasn't intrigued."

"Guess I shouldn't bother changing out of uniform before he picks me up then, huh?" she teased. "You know, he did send me something..." she trailed off as she turned her attention to her omni-tool. "It's a piece from Penephaedra's gallery. I have a holo," she mumbled, searching for the file. "Ah. Here. He sent me this sculpture after the show. What does this look like to you?" she asked, holding the display so he could see.

Garrus craned his neck, and his mandibles immediately began to flicker. "What the hell? Is that a...? Never mind. You should cancel, Shepard."

"I'm guessing it's not a ship, then?" she asked innocently, tilting her head and making a show of scrutinizing the image of the sculpture.

Unbelievable. He had to get her to put the holo away before someone walked by. "No, I don't think so. Turn that off."

"Some kind of knife or something?" she suggested, still studying the holo.

"Sure, maybe," he agreed. He picked up a datapad and held it out for her, "Let's get to work."

Shepard rotated the image and ignored him. "I don't really like how it looks in my apartment, so I was thinking I'd bring it to work and use it as a paperweight. Of course, we don't use paper, so it'd just be sitting here on the desk, more useless than a paperweight. It doesn't sit flat, though. It kind of rocks when it's on a flat surface."

"Don't do that," he said, distress obvious in his tone and his subharmonics, assuming Shepard knew how to listen. "We don't need a bunch of junk cluttering up our workspace," Garrus hastily explained with forced calm.

Shepard's eyes narrowed and she scrutinized him. Of course she'd pick up his alarm. _Of course_ she would. "What aren't you telling me, Vakarian?" she asked.

Garrus backed away a step, submitting to answering her question. "It looks a bit... obscene."

Shepard glanced at the holo, then back to him. The corners of her lips tugged upward, but it was so subtle, he might have imagined it. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at it, Shepard," he said, flicking a mandible toward the holo. "Now think turian anatomy."

Shepard's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "You've got to be kidding me!" she laughed.

"So you're cancelling, right? Have lunch with me instead."

"How about I have _dinner_ with you and tell you all about lunch then. Don't worry, I don't like him enough to put out on the first date."

"Oh, stop, you're making me feel so special," he said, flicking his wrist and tapping his toes, emphasizing his sarcasm.

"No, don't do that," Shepard pleaded wearily, "this isn't a problem. It's not even really a date. If he wanted to get laid or something, he'd have asked me to dinner or out for drinks, and he wouldn't be sending a car because I guarantee he wouldn't want anyone to know about it. He'd pick me up himself or ask me to meet him and let me find my own way there. It's not a problem," she reiterated.

"I think I'll reserve my judgment until I hear what you have to say at dinner tonight."

Shepard sighed and picked up a datapad, "Dating you is already hard, Garrus."

"Yeah, but you know it'll be worth it, Valor," he replied, pleased that he sounded so much more confident than he felt.

* * *

_A/N: Triple-chapter update, yeah! Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear what you think._


	7. Heavy

Shepard dabbed medi-gel onto the abrasions on her inner thighs. They were light this time, and they'd heal quickly. Ten years of fucking turians, and she still hadn't found a position that didn't leave her skin chafed raw _somewhere_. At least Sparatus hadn't left any scratches on her. In all, he'd actually been very gentle for a turian driven half mad with lust. Maybe she should tone down the pheromone cocktail she used to lower inhibitions and increase desire. But why tinker with something that was effective? If she changed the formula, it might not work so well. Probably wouldn't work on Garrus at all if she diluted it. How he resisted so effectively, she couldn't guess. No, she wouldn't change the mixture. Scraped thighs were a small price to pay.

Sparatus had been a difficult mark. Unlike others, he'd been able to keep in mind the reasons he _didn't _want to have sex with a human, even when he was nearly insensible with desire. In the end, she'd had to reveal some of her mastery over surveillance systems to convince him that no one would find out. Of course, instead of admitting that she was brute-force hacking the systems, she claimed to be using some sort of C-Sec master code. He probably wouldn't have believed her capable of doing it so quickly, if at all, without a crutch like that.

Wiping her fingers on the towel she'd dried off with, she cleaned up the bathroom. Garrus probably wouldn't catch the significance of a wet towel and some dirty clothes on the floor if he saw them when he came over, but he _was_ a detective. She was more concerned that her hair wouldn't finish drying before she saw him, even with the drier that used mass effect fields to push the water out off of every strand. Even a high-tech device like that wasn't perfect, and her scalp still felt damp. _I'll tell him it's sweat, or that it's natural, or... whatever. He doesn't know humans well enough to catch me lying about that,_ she reassured herself. Wet hair was easier to explain away than another turian's scent all over her, though, so there had really been no choice.

She'd already brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth, but she felt the need to do it again. She was obviously not the first human or asari Sparatus had spent a few sweaty hours with, and he seemed to consider himself an expert kisser. The memory of his slimy, rough tongue filling her mouth made her gag. Once she controlled her reflex, she resumed brushing and _scrubbed_ as if she was cleaning away the memory. She spat, rinsed her mouth and the brush, then regarded her reflection. She would need to reapply her makeup and perfume, get dressed, and pin her hair back. Half an hour, then she'd tell Garrus to come over while she picked up dinner and pretended she was just barely getting back from meeting up with Sparatus.

Part of her quailed at the thought of entertaining another turian so soon. She would have preferred to invite Penephaedra over, but she'd burned that bridge by anonymously sending the edited sex vid to the press. The artist would avoid her like the plague if she wanted to keep Tevos as her patron. But tonight wouldn't be so bad. Garrus was just playing her. He only wanted the files her encryption had corrupted. She still hadn't decided how much to let him have. If she gave him too much, she'd have to contain the information later on, but part of her really wanted to let him in.

She'd grown alarmingly attached to her turian partner. She was almost beginning to see him as a person and _not_ a turian. He wasn't like most of the rest of his species, though, so it made sense that she was confused. He didn't _want_ to see the galaxy marching to the Primarch's tune, and he didn't blindly fall into line, even when his superiors were turian. He also seemed capable of genuinely respecting and even admiring humans. She'd never seen that trait in a turian before. Lucky for him, he had also avoided becoming particularly influential or powerful. Or maybe that was _her_ luck. Thinking of him as a target made her uncomfortable. He might have been the very first turian she'd met in ten years that she didn't want to see dead, and that... scared her.

* * *

Garrus's heart leapt when his omni-tool chimed to alert him to a new message. It was from Shepard.

_Running late, and I'm not really up for going out tonight. Want to meet at my place and have dinner there? Let me know when you arrive and I'll send you the guest password for the locks if I'm not there yet._

That was it? She'd been gone _all day_ and she had nothing more to say? He took a deep breath and stilled his twitching mandibles. Maybe she just didn't want to put it into a message. And she was going to let him into her apartment. It would be worthwhile if he could get an uncorrupted copy of those files. He composed a reply, then gathered up the day's case reports. If they were staying in, he was going to make her help him get some of the work she'd missed finished. It was only fair.

And in addition to explaining what she'd been doing since noon, she could explain the _gift_ she handed him that morning. He placed the resealed roll with the rest of the crap he was taking home with him and snorted. He had carefully opened the protective plastic tube during his own lunch hour, just after Shepard left to meet the turian Councilor, and then he spent the entire time _staring_ at the drawings he'd found within instead of eating. More than a dozen sketches of her, naked, posing for the asari artist.

He didn't have a _clue_ what to make of it. Spirits, he didn't even know if he should keep the drawings. She'd given him the roll before he'd expressed his interest in a relationship with her. Before they'd agreed to... any of that. Had she known? She couldn't have. So she'd given him these when she believed there was a slim chance at best of being more than partners at work to one another. Bold. Shameless, even. He had to admire her for her confidence. And more than that, he had to have some answers.

* * *

Garrus typed in the pass-code. _Petrichor. What the hell is a petrichor? _he wondered, hoping he'd entered it correctly. The symbols humans used were simple, but a lot of them looked very similar to him. The access terminal flashed green and the lock released, allowing him entry. He locked it again behind him so he'd have at least a few seconds' warning before she came in. He definitely didn't want her to catch him scanning her ship display.

He wasted no time setting up the programs. He'd done a little work upgrading his decryption protocols and adding a whole slew of frequency identification programs, and within moments, he had confirmation that it had paid off. The files were downloading, and he'd gotten four more chips to ping him back. If he had a little time, he was confident he could find more, and with some luck, he'd get files off all of them. What could all of it be? There were terabytes of storage in this miniature plastic fleet. The personnel carrier's chip finished giving up its secrets, but it looked like some of the files were _heavily _encrypted. The ones that hadn't successfully copied the first time, in fact. He hoped it wouldn't be a problem.

Waiting for his programs to run, he studied the collection, noting with interest that the model he'd recently seen in pieces on the work desk had now joined its fellows on the wall. He glanced to the desk and was surprised to see another model. Did she ever stop? This one was still in its box and shrink-wrap, though, not laid out and ready to assemble. Well, she _had_ been busy.

He scanned the rest of the dim apartment and with an annoyed flick of his mandibles, he noticed the phallic sculpture Councilor Sparatus had sent her was sitting in the center of the coffee table. He checked the download status, then walked over and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked, probably made of solid steel, but it was also smaller than he'd imagined it would be. Laughable. Pathetic, even. Considering the scale, maybe its resemblance to a penis was just an unfortunate coincidence. He checked his visor stats on it and confirmed his assumption about its composition. Who would want something like that? He hoped Shepard would get rid of it. She already admitted she didn't like it in her apartment... more or less.

He replaced the sculpture, then sat on the couch and monitored his programs' progress. All the new files were encrypted, some of which might be impossible for him to decrypt alone. He took note of what ships the active memory devices were stored in and settled down to wait for Shepard.

He felt like a mess. His heart was fluttering, he was angry and apprehensive, but he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to seeing her, though he hoped she would be content with talking, maybe sitting close. What did humans do with someone they were _dating_?

A horrifying thought occurred to him. She wasn't expecting him to have sex with her, was she? Garrus slouched deeper into the couch and an unhappy growl rumbled in his chest. What had she said about being asked to lunch versus being taken to dinner? Dinner meant someone wanted to get laid. Spirits. How had he missed that? Well, it didn't matter. There was no way he was going to let _that_ happen tonight.

The door chimed a proximity alert, jarring him from his thoughts. He glanced at his omni-tool and quickly decided to let the programs run in the background. Shepard would never know what he was downloading and decrypting, anyway. The lock disengaged and the door slid open, revealing Shepard, burdened by what looked like dinner and a bottle of wine. "Glad you could make it," he called, rising to help her.

"Ugh, me too. You have no idea," she wearily complained, letting him take a few of the containers from the stack in her arms. "I didn't know what you like, so I, uh, probably over-ordered."

"You could have asked," he said, studying her appearance. Her uniform looked a little rumpled, but not more than a normal day's wear could account for. Her hair was still pinned in a neat coil at the back of her head, with only a few wisps escaping the configuration. Neither disheveled nor overly neat. A little of the nervous tension in his chest released. Maybe he was needlessly worked up over Sparatus. He promised himself he wasn't going to be the one to broach that subject.

"No, the expression on the waiter's face was great," she insisted as she opened the dextro/levo-friendly wine. "Puny human ordering enough dextro food to feed a clawball team. I told him I had a hot date," she said, blinking one eye. _Winking_ at him, rather.

"A hot date with a whole clawball team. That's ambitious," he mused, watching her pour two glasses of the golden liquid. "And an image I didn't need to picture," Garrus said with a chuckle. He _couldn't_ picture it, actually, but it looked like Shepard wasn't having any trouble. Well, not with picturing it, anyway. "Spirits, Valor, you look like I just tweaked your fringe," he said, rolling his head in delight.

"My what?" she asked. He would have thought she was angry but there was a smile creeping across her face.

"Uh... hair? Tweaked your hair?"

"Nope. Try again."

"I've got nothing. Something untoward and socially inappropriate. Fill in the blank."

"Smacked my ass?" she supplied.

"Uh-oh," he said solemnly, wiping the amused expression off his face. "Humans don't like that?" he asked, feigning ignorance. He was rewarded with a shocked expression followed by some hearty laughter, which he found surprisingly charming.

"Oh, god, how did I not know you have a sense of humor, Garrus?" she asked, still smiling.

"Well, you _are_ a human," he sighed. "But don't worry, you've got pretty hair and a nice voice so you'll be okay," he soothed.

"You like my voice?" she asked.

"And your hair," he added. Her voice was nice _for a human_, but he figured she wouldn't appreciate being told that though her range was nice, she sounded flat and emotionless.

"Everyone likes my hair, Garrus."

"Really? I mean, I can see why, but... really?"

"Gentlemen prefer blondes," she said with a flick of her wrist while she tapped her toes, underscoring the slight inflection to her tone that he recognized as sarcasm.

"I've actually heard that before. Guess I know what it means, now. So, all this food looks great, but you just got home. Need some time to change or unwind or anything? I don't want to crowd you."

"It's okay. I was all the way on the other side of the station. Long cab ride gave me plenty of time to gather my wits. Shall we be civilized and get some dishes out, or can we eat out of the take-out boxes in the living room?" she asked, sorting the orders into levo and dextro piles. Her pile was a quarter the size of his.

"Being civilized is over-rated," he replied, finding the idea of a _casual_ dinner together much less intimidating than sitting across from one another and trying to make polite conversation. He inspected the contents of a few of the containers and picked one, claimed a glass of wine, then followed Shepard into the living room.

"Should I take that as a warning about the interrogation you're dying to unleash on me?" she asked, setting her food and wine on the coffee table and leaning forward to flick the sculpture, spinning it in wobbly circles.

"I'll be gentle," Garrus promised, tearing his eyes away from the ridiculous object. "That's better than being civilized."

"Do you really think that?" Shepard asked as if she couldn't believe what he'd said. Funny, he didn't get the impression that she disagreed with him, though.

"Civilization has some serious perks, but it isn't fair and it isn't very kind a lot of times, so yes," he answered.

"That's surprising to hear from a... someone like you."

"C-Sec officer? Turian?" Garrus supplied. He really wished she'd finished the sentence. He got the feeling it would have told him a lot about her.

"Yeah. So, why don't you ask me something and we can get the cross-examination over with?"

"Why don't you just tell me, instead?" he offered.

Shepard took a deep breath, then began, "He was about half an hour late to the restaurant, for which he apologized profusely. He asked me to call him Actaion. Small talk about the art show and this fucking sculpture followed," she said, flicking it again. "He might have been flirting, but if he was, he's bad at it. Then he told me he's had some security concerns with his private collection of sculptures. I guess he paid attention to my cases when I was with C-Sec Network. We negotiated some independent contract work and he showed me the secure container that holds most of his collection."

"That's... not what I was expecting. You spent all day on that?" Garrus carefully asked. It didn't add up, but she seemed sincere and she didn't really smell like she'd been in close company with another turian today. Now that he thought of it, Sparatus must have _really_ kept his distance. He couldn't smell a trace of another male turian on her at all.

"He was right, security's a mess and he's got a fortune invested in that storage container, alone. He didn't trust me enough to bring me to his home where the real problem is, but maybe we'll work up to that. The fact is that he doesn't want anyone to know he's into art, and having me around right now is bad news for him politically, regardless of what he claims. I think he was desperate for some help and he knows it's in my best interest not to antagonize him."

"And he thinks you're an art buff, since you ran into him at that gallery."

"And that. Satisfied?"

"Are you lying to me?" he asked without looking at her.

"No," she flatly replied, not looking at him.

"Then I'm satisfied. I'm glad it was just a job. Really glad. Not sure I could compete with _Actaion_ Sparatus."

Shepard set down her fork and turned to face him, "Did I miss something?"

"Someone of his rank doesn't let underlings use his given name," he explained. "I still think he's got his eye on you."

"If he makes a move, I'll tell him no and you can hit him. Happy?"

"Not really. Do you know what they'd do to me if I hit the turian Councilor over a human?"

"What if _a human_ hit him?" she asked.

"Even worse. There's only one thing for it– don't go out with him again. Let him hire someone who doesn't have half a dozen murder cases to solve and a black market leather merchant to corner."

"Oh, I meant to tell you," Shepard said, suddenly looking excited, "I think it's bigger than just a merchant. I think I've got a lead on the actual farm. It's a _ship_."

"No way," he said. "Who would be stupid enough to run a black market operation like that in Citadel space? On a spaceship, no less?" No, he was convinced the farm had to be in the Terminus Systems. They were looking for a smuggler, not a farm.

"An acquaintance from the C-Sec Patrol fleet told me there's a livestock ship that's been sighted in the system but no one's tagged it yet. It's low priority and it's been hanging around outside of or at the very edge of scanner range for all the standard patrols."

"Nice work. We need to check that out, but getting clearance for something like that is going to take weeks. They could be gone by then."

"We'll see. Maybe I could get the Councilor to pull some strings."

"I don't like the idea of you owing him any favors," Garrus denied, hoping she'd listen. "Besides, he'd probably hand it over to a Spectre and we'd lose the case."

"Am I hearing right? You actually want to do this by the books, even if it means the bad guys get away?"

"Maybe you're rubbing off on me a little," he said, proud of his seamless incorporation of the human phrase.

"Not yet I'm not," she said under her breath, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Garrus didn't even want to know what that was supposed to mean. Forget idioms. Humans were crazy. "Thanks for the... present," he ventured. "I opened it during my lunch break and, well, I didn't end up eating lunch."

"Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, Garrus."

"Sorry? Now I'm confused."

"Wait a second, why didn't you eat?" she asked, her expression becoming sharp and angry.

"Because of the drawings?" he tentatively answered.

"So you saw those drawings of me and you couldn't eat afterward?" she demanded, some of her anger turning to hurt.

Garrus suddenly realized what she was getting at. "No!" he hastily denied. "I didn't lose my appetite, I was just distracted. I lost track of time. It wasn't… a bad thing. I swear."

Shepard scrutinized him for a moment before the anger melted and she turned her attention to the half-eaten meal in front of her. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little touchy."

"It's okay. Now tell me why you just apologized for giving them to me, other than making me miss lunch."

"I gave those to you because I felt like you were leading me on and I wanted to mess with you. Then you... changed your mind and I should have, I don't know, warned you or something. I'm really sorry."

"You were pissed so you sent me naked drawings of yourself? Who does that, Valor?"

"The same idiot who wears a white dress to an asari artist's show, apparently."

"I'm not seeing the connection. You mentioned that was offensive somehow?"

"Yeah. Long story. It means something like 'your art made no impression on me, because look, I'm a blank canvas.' Security was closing in to throw me out when Sparatus told me what I'd done. He was gloating at the stupid human, I think, but it gave me a chance to redeem myself."

"Well, that's not fair. That's a really strange custom."

"Right? So I ran off to explain to the artist that I didn't mean it and she roped me into sitting for her. Honestly, it sounded like fun, and it kind of was until she turned it into this... sex thing."

"You're not a push-over, Valor. What did she say to make you think you had to go along with that?"

"First of all, she'd been plying me with drinks, so I _wasn't_ at my best. Sitting still for hours while someone draws you is insanely boring, so I'd had a lot more than I should have. And then she said she was going to show the sketches to Councilor Tevos if I didn't follow her instructions. Antagonizing Councilors isn't a good career move, and Penephaedra's attractive enough so I just did it. I probably wouldn't have minded half as much as I did if I didn't already have my eye on you. It felt like... cheating or something, as stupid as that sounds now."

"But she released the vid anyway," Garrus pointed out. He didn't know what to say to the rest. Humans were downright strange about sex, and it was clear Shepard wasn't comfortable with what had happened.

"No shit. I think Tevos had her cornered, so she used the publicity of the vid to make sure Tevos _couldn't_ retaliate without exposing her own relationship with Penephaedra. It was clever. And she could have made it a lot worse for me than she did. If she had any footage that clearly showed my face, she edited it out before sending it to the press. No one can _prove_ it's me with facial recognition or voice print."

"Huh," Garrus grunted in response, not sure what else to say. It sounded plausible, but the whole series of events was so damned strange. This was the kind of thing that happened in holo-dramas, not real life, and not to soldiers and C-Sec detectives. It strained credulity, but he couldn't find anything out of place. He set aside the remains of his meal and took a sip of the wine. It wasn't bad.

"She gave me the sketches to prove she wasn't going to show them to Tevos," Shepard continued. "As soon as the vid came out, I just wanted to get rid of them, but I didn't feel right destroying them."

"Why?"

"They're art," Shepard answered, looking bewildered that he would ask such a thing. "Look, you can do what you want with the sketches. If I'd waited a day, I might have given them to you for a different reason. I can't think of anyone I else I'd trust them to, anyway. That sounds pretty sad, huh?" she said without meeting his eyes.

"I don't think so," he soothed, once again more angry than he could account for at the thought of what that artist had done to her. "Thanks. They're beautiful."

"She's skilled," Shepard said with a wry twist to her lips.

"Alright, let me rephrase that," Garrus amended, "_you're_ beautiful. Thank you. Not sure what I'm going to do with a bunch of naked pictures of you, but I guess I could get them framed and hang them on my walls. Not like I entertain very often so they won't bother anyone."

"Good conversation piece if you did, though," she said. "Hang on to them for a while and maybe they'll be worth something. She actually signed all of them, so they can be authenticated, and I hear her star is rising. One good thing about the damned vid."

"More likely to be valuable because they're drawings of _you_, in my opinion."

"We'll see," Shepard said, her tone sounding even more dull and lifeless than usual. "Sometimes I think my career's permanently in limbo. I wish I knew what I did wrong."

"I don't think you did anything wrong. Just be patient," he advised, still finding it difficult to credit that she didn't realize how important her current post probably was.

Shepard smiled, then shifted her body to face him. "Why are you being so nice to me, Garrus? Where's the hard-ass, cowboy C-Sec detective who thinks I have some dark secret?"

"He's in here somewhere, but I'm beginning to think he doesn't have a leg to stamp on."

"Stand. A leg to stand on," she corrected.

"Whatever. I'm done with human idioms. They're all insane."

"Okay," Shepard said before suddenly leaning in and pressing her lips against his mouth. Garrus reflexively recoiled, but Shepard grabbed him and pulled him back. Forcing himself to relax, he realized that it... wasn't unpleasant. Finally, Shepard pulled away, though she kept her hands on him and her face was definitely in his personal space. "Have you ever done that before?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

"Not really," he admitted. "Asari are... different, and you're the first human I've, ah, dated."

"You're going to need to practice, then," she suggested, moving closer and kissing him again before he could protest. He put his arm around her and shifted to face her a little more so he didn't have to crane his neck. He tried to mimic what Shepard was doing with her lips, but quite frankly, it was impossible, so he did his best and relaxed, enjoying the sensation and the warm buzz of the wine finally hitting his system. Shepard shifted around a bit, but he didn't think anything of it until she broke the kiss to tug her shirt over her head. With relief, he realized she was wearing a... smaller shirt under it. Maybe she was too hot.

"Don't look at me like that, Garrus," she said, sounding frustrated. "You're making me feel like a slut. I'm not _that_ easy, I swear. But I really like you. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, but what makes you think _I'm_ that easy?" he said, lifting his smallest finger to let her know he was teasing her. "Let's just slow it down, Valor– I want us to take our time so we don't make a mistake."

"Slow and easy isn't usually my thing, Garrus, but I can wait a little for the right turian."

"And _I'm_ the right turian?" he prompted, feeling very smug about the whole idea for some reason.

"Obviously," she smiled, throwing a leg over his lap and settling herself there, straddling his hips. "But if you don't want me to tear your clothes off and have my way with you, you're going to have to leave soon."

"And now I really want to test your resolve," he said, pulling her face close. "I think I'll stay a little longer," he whispered before kissing her again. To be fair, she did most of the work– his lips and tongue weren't half as flexible as hers, but she didn't seem to mind. Kissing wasn't a thing turians did– not like this– but it wasn't hard to get used to. He could kiss Valor all night, and she seemed to share his sentiment. Her hot lips and soft, wet mouth on his sent shivers over his plates, and the way she used her tongue to caress his just about drove him wild. The heat and solid weight of her straddling his lap wasn't something he could complain about, either. Humans were much heavier than they looked. Soft, supple skin instead of plates, but their muscles were dense and hard. At least Valor's were.

Valor gently grabbed his hands, placing his palms just above her hips. She wasn't quite as shapely as a turian woman, but her waist felt just as narrow in his hands. He drifted a little lower, down to her hip bones, exploring her. Shepard pulled his hands slowly upward again, over the curve of her waist, then up to her ribs, Her hips didn't flare quite as wide as a turian's would have, and her keel, well, she didn't have one, so her torso was a lot more compact, but he couldn't consider her to be poorly built anymore. She seemed perfectly formed in her own way, and he supposed she probably was.

He ran his hands over her body, enjoying the play of her muscles and how her chest expanded and contracted with each breath as she continued kissing him. Then the hard planes of muscle turned soft and he suddenly realized he'd strayed to her breasts. A tiny, breathy moan escaped her lips and she seemed to lean into his touch, so he took that as a sign she _wanted_ him to explore further. Hesitantly, he cupped her in his palms. Humans seemed obsessed with this part of the body, but he had no idea what to do with it. Before he could get too distressed by his complete lack of experience, Valor's hands covered his and she pressed, rubbing his hands in little circles, and squeezed, using his hands to lightly knead her own body.

"Like that," she whispered. "Just touch me, the skin is so sensitive, it all feels good. You can pinch here," she said, guiding his fingers to close carefully around the hardening tips– nipples, he thought they were called– "but be gentle," she warned, squeezing his fingers to show him how much pressure. She gasped a little when the pressure became a little too much, then released his hands and kissed him some more.

One of her hands slowly trailed up the back of his neck toward his crest of horns and he had to force himself to relax. He focused on kissing her back as best he could, and on repeating the motions she had shown him to use on her breasts. When her fingers threaded into his crest, _between_ the horns, he growled in pleasure and he knew he had to put a stop to this or he'd lose control.

"Valor," he gasped, letting his hands fall to her waist, "let's... I should go, or this is going to get... heavy very quickly."

"I wouldn't complain," she murmured, brushing her cheek along his mandible in a very close approximation of one of the things turians did instead of kissing. She was deliciously warm and her cheek was maddeningly soft. He wondered if she knew, or if the contact was just incidental.

"We'll get there, but not tonight. I don't want to hurt you," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. If further make-out sessions were in their future, he would _definitely_ need to read up on how humans had sex. He hadn't expected to enjoy this _at all_ and at this point he honestly believed that if it had continued just a little longer, he wouldn't have been able to restrain himself.

"Okay. Just as long as you're not leaving because I freaked you out or something."

"Not a chance, Valor. You are dead sexy, and if I don't keep my hands off you right now... well, I'm thinking maybe I have a thing for humans after all."

"At least one human, anyway," she playfully corrected.

"Definitely for _one_ human," he agreed.

"Are you sure you have to go?" she asked, lightly caressing the sensitive skin of his neck. "I could show you something _else_ I can do with my mouth. I think you'll like it even better than kissing," she said, her voice smoky and suggestive.

Garrus couldn't keep his mandibles from flickering, nor his breath from hitching. He had a pretty good idea what she was referring to and right now it sounded like an _amazing_ idea. His plates loosened as he tried to imagine what her mouth would feel like on him, and he knew she could feel the shift. "Not right now, Valor," he said, not knowing whether to hope she'd argue or not, because he knew he wouldn't try very hard to win the debate.

"Okay. I won't pressure you," she said, gracefully lifting herself off him and standing up. She held her hand out to him, and he took it, allowing her to help pull him to his feet. And like that, it was over.

"We need to do this again real soon," he said, pulling her to his chest. Her arms circled around him and she rested her head on his keel. She was so _warm_ and soft. His chest rumbled with contented pleasure. "This feels _good_, Valor. I'm surprised."

"Me too," she said, holding him for a moment before drawing away. "It's late. I'll see you tomorrow, though."

"Okay. Goodnight," he said, reluctantly letting her go. She smiled at him and led him to the door. He stole one more quick kiss before leaving, and it was almost enough to keep him from walking through the door. Her scent clung to him, and he just knew it was going to haunt him the rest of the night. And somehow, he was looking forward to that.

* * *

**_A/N: Tune in next week for the riveting and extra long chapter: Solo. My ego loves your reviews, and followers and favoriters support my delusions of grandeur. Thank you. (No, I am not suppressing a mad cackle.)_**


	8. Solo

Shepard locked the door behind Garrus. Now that she was alone, the world seemed to spin. She couldn't breathe and her chest hitched like she was sobbing. _What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?_ she viciously demanded of herself, staggering back to the couch and collapsing in a heap.

She let her reaction wash over her without latching onto it or feeding it and reminded herself that this was normal. She had been under a lot of pressure. It was just a reaction to the stress. She was taking a lot of risks and focusing too much on her personal agendas. She needed to re-center. Dammit, there was a _reason_ she'd joined the Alliance. There was a fucking reason she wanted to be part of something bigger than herself and to be able to rely on regulations, orders and routine to define how she spent her time. This post with C-Sec and its sloppy chain of command and flexible operational protocol was going to be a disaster if it lasted much longer. She needed to reach out to someone. Maybe Captain Anderson would be able to pull some strings.

With new purpose, she sat down at her personal terminal and quickly typed up a message. Anderson would do what he could for her, she was certain. He was one of the few contacts she had that she hadn't deliberately cultivated and manipulated. Scratch that– she had tried once, the first time they met. He not only resisted, he actually called her out and dissected her motives– accurately. She apologized and he never held it against her, they'd just moved forward. For that, he had earned her trust and loyalty. Later, she'd learned that he knew both of her parents, but whatever they might have told him of her, he judged her by her service record, her devotion, and her character, not her personal life or the mistakes she had made as an adolescent.

_LT Shepard in need of new post and orders. It's high time, Sir. C-Sec commission a pointless endeavor, waste of my training. Please advise._

As she re-read the brief message, she hated that all her personal correspondence was so sterile, but she knew it was better than being too open, so she dismissed the thought. She sent the message to Anderson's personal account, cleared a ridiculous volume of spam and messages about the vid with Penephaedra, then logged out. Her mother still hadn't replied to her last message, but Hannah Shepard often let months lapse before responding to the periodicals and brief commentary she sent, so Shepard wasn't surprised.

She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck and realized she still smelled like Garrus. _I didn't even brush my teeth yet,_ she thought with some distress. She hurried to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark tracks ran down her cheeks, stopping her cold. When had she cried? She didn't remember tears creeping down her face, but the evidence was undeniable. She lifted her hand and stared at the moisture on her fingers in disbelief. The tears hadn't even dried yet. _I don't cry,_ she thought firmly. _I have no reason to cry. Garrus was pleasant. Nothing went wrong. I have control of this._

Thinking of Garrus made her heart rate spike and her breathing quicken. His hands on her had felt good and she hadn't minded kissing him. She needed to brush her teeth, and to wash his scent off her, but the smell didn't churn her stomach and she thought she could actually go finish eating without brushing first and it wouldn't make her gag. Not that she would do it. None of that was right. She shouldn't enjoy that with an alien, let alone a turian. Getting clean again was _necessary_.

And she knew that as pleasant as it had been, he was just using her. He had harvested _all_ the files she had made available for him. There was only a slim chance he'd be able to decrypt most of them without military-grade assistance and months if not years of devoted processor power, and she had ensured that he wouldn't be able to duplicate them, but that was information that was now out of her control. Was that why she was reacting so strongly? Because she'd given him power over her? It must be.

Methodically, she brushed her teeth, then removed her makeup and obliterated the evidence of her meltdown before taking another shower. The routine was soothing, and by the time she turned off the steaming water, she felt her confidence return. She knew what she needed to do.

Dressed in a robe, she returned to her console and composed a second message to David Anderson. She kept it short.

_Belay last, Sir. I can handle this. The work is valuable._

She knew she was up to it, but there was a lot of work to do.

* * *

For once, Garrus arrived at C-Sec early, even earlier than Shepard. Unfortunately, he'd left yesterday's case files– and the sketches Shepard had given him– at her apartment.

He sat down at his desk, annoyed. _Leave it to my luck that the one day I manage to drag my sorry carapace in early, I ensured that there's nothing for me to do until Shepard shows up. _

Shepard's console flashed with new messages, but his own was dark. Odd. They were partners, expected to work all their cases together. Before he could decide whether it was worth the risk of hacking her terminal to find out what case she'd been assigned solo, movement up the hall caught his eye. Shepard stepped off the lift right as he turned to look. Her arms were full and she struggled to keep the stack of datapads, take-out containers– the ones for the _rest_ of the 'clawball team' most likely, it's not like she could eat any of his leftovers– and the tube of sketches from tumbling to the floor. Garrus was just about to go help her when Officer Eddie Lang rushed out of his office directly across from the lift and beat him to the cut.

Lang said something to make her laugh and he put his hand on her elbow. He was too damned close, and did humans always touch each other when they spoke? Garrus didn't think so, but he'd never paid close attention to how they treated other humans, just to how they treated him and how they expected him to act. He pulled his mandibles close and kept them carefully still, though they wanted to twitch.

Valor smiled and let Lang take most of the load from her, but when he reached for the sketches, she pulled the cylinder away and rested it over her shoulder. Garrus's mandibles rose, and his territorial anger faded. It wasn't much, but Valor keeping those sketches out of Lang's hands was surprisingly soothing. As Shepard turned toward him, their eyes met and she flashed him a crooked smile. She bounced the sketches on her shoulder and winked at him.

Garrus almost missed Officer Lang falling a step behind her and openly appreciating the view. A deep, almost inaudible rumble started in his chest. Had human males always behaved like this around Valor? _Go ahead, Eddie, ask her out and give me a reason to rearrange your plates...er, face, _he viciously thought, before recoiling in surprise at his own vehemence. _Since when do I care _that much_ about her? Last night was nice, but I was just doing what I had to in order to get those files,_ he reminded himself.

It felt like a lie, even though he _knew_ it wasn't. He could barely remember why he'd been disinterested in Shepard's advances for so long. Last night when he realized he had a legitimate reason to go back to her apartment– to retrieve everything he'd left behind– his plates heated up in anticipation of seeing her again. When she didn't answer and he couldn't get in, he nearly made himself sick worrying that he'd done something to hurt or offend her. And he hadn't so much as glanced at the files he'd copied from her ship collection because he'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of her. For all he knew, the files were decrypted by now.

"Bright and early, Vakarian," Valor commented. "You still want this?" she asked, holding the tube of sketches out to him. "Because you left it at my place last night, so I wasn't sure," she added, smirking devilishly as her eyes flicked to Officer Lang, who quickly turned an appraising eye to Garrus.

His talons closed around the cylinder, "Of course. I had something else on my mind when I left. Thanks for bringing them to me. I have no intention of parting with them."

"Thanks, Eddie," Shepard said, turning to the other human. "You can set that stuff down on Garrus's desk."

"Uh, sure, Val. Hey, you want to get coffee with me sometime?" Lang asked. Valor raised an eyebrow, but before she could answer, Garrus mimicked a sound humans called 'clearing the throat.' Eddie's eyes widened and he hurriedly continued, "I, ah... I've been considering enlisting and I thought maybe you'd have some valuable advice."

Shepard smiled and removed her jacket. Garrus couldn't miss how the motion showcased her neck and the lines of her collarbones, but Eddie's attention seemed to be elsewhere. "Ping me later this week," she said with a nod as she tossed the jacket over the back of her chair.

"Looking forward to it," Eddie said, smiling at her before heading back to his own workstation.

"Coffee, huh?" Garrus gruffly demanded once Lang was out of earshot.

"What? You jealous, Vakarian?" she lightly teased, beginning to sort out the new clutter on his desk.

"Should I be?" he asked, tapping his foot irritably. Maybe he was pushing too much, but humans usually needed the extra emphasis or they only paid attention to the words coming through their translators. Valor was better than most, but she still missed a lot of nuance.

Shepard flicked her wrist, dismissing his concern. "If I'm going for a human, I prefer women, remember?"

"I don't think Eddie knows that. And he's probably seen that vid."

"I don't think both of those statements can be true, Garrus, unless he's dumber than he looks. I'm more... flexible than most humans are with sexuality, but I don't exactly advertise that. So if he's seen the vid and assumes it really is me, he would probably guess that I'm not into men."

"You humans are all crazy," Garrus muttered. Trying to understand their archaic, backward ideas about sexuality and mating always made his head hurt.

"And where were you last night?" Valor asked, winking at him again. "Guess you like crazy. So, anything new this morning?"

"Not for me, but your console's got something."

"Must be a glitch. Fire it up for me," she requested, her attention back on the disaster she'd wreaked on his workspace.

"Need your pass," Garrus reminded her.

"Told you yesterday," she shot back.

"Huh," Garrus grunted, leaning over to carefully enter 'petrichor' on her haptic interface, which reconfigured itself to default turian settings at his first touch. "Not a very good practice, reusing passwords like that. But I noticed you changed your lock after I left. I came back before I even got halfway to the skycar docks, and you didn't answer, so I tried the guest password," he said, taking a moment to customize some of the default settings and rename the profile for himself. It was bold, but when she glanced over his shoulder to see what was taking him so long, she didn't object.

"Interrogating me again?" she asked, sorting quickly through the pile of open cases they needed to follow up on.

"Not exactly," Garrus contradicted. "I technically didn't ask you a question."

"The guest password expires. You must have left after the clock rolled over. It's automated. And I didn't answer because I was in the shower. Is that everything?"

"Why petrichor?" he absently asked, finally reading over the solo assignment.

"Because it's beautiful," she answered distantly. She was engrossed in one of the datapads.

"You like the smell of... wet dirt? Mud?" he asked incredulously. Maybe the translator was to blame. Frankly, he didn't care, but sometimes a person's passwords could tell you something about them. The assignment had most of his attention. Instead of case details, it was just a personal message from the Captain requesting that Valor immediately report to the Executor for details.

"No, the scent of dust after rain. It's different. What's our assignment?"

"Shepard, you need to read this. It says "immediately," so..."

He moved aside as she leaned in to read the message. "Damn. Well, let's go."

"I think he just wants you. I'll get to work here," Garrus declined. If it was a glitch, _not_ showing up for the meeting was the best way to get it fixed. If this one was just for Shepard, tagging along was a quick way to an embarrassing dressing down and it would feed the already too-numerous rumors.

"Suit yourself. I'll keep you in the loop, one way or another," she promised, slipping her jacket back on.

"I'm going to be running all over the lower wards today, but don't hesitate to ping me if you need me to cover you," Garrus said.

"Don't leave until I get out of the briefing, assuming they don't call you in, too," she requested. She reached out to clasp his hand momentarily before turning away.

"I guess I can get these case files in order first, but don't take all day," he called after her, savoring the lingering heat from her touch. _Oh, Spirits, why her? I guess humans don't have a monopoly on crazy, _he silently lamented as he watched her go.

* * *

"And the Councilor wants this kept quiet," Pallin reiterated. "I don't know why he trusts _you,_ Shepard, but don't hesitate to bring in more C-Sec resources if you need help. He sounded distressed, and his safety is more important than his privacy at this point. You should consider bringing Vakarian along with you."

"Understood. Personally, I have to say I'd trust the Councilor's judgment and this should be kept quiet, at least for now."

"Vakarian's not going to like that."

"I'll handle him. Don't give him a reason to get curious and he'll keep himself busy."

"Listen, human, don't forget who gives orders around here," Pallin snapped, his mandibles flaring wider.

"Sir," Shepard acknowledged, fighting the impulse to roll her eyes. Instead, she shifted her stance to project humility and deflect his annoyance. A lot could be said for such exaggerated body cues. Instead of reading the subtle tells of her irritation, the Executor noted only the deliberate expression she chose to display.

Pallin set a C-Sec access chit on the desk, then turned his attention to the holographic display above his desk. "I expect daily reports until the matter is resolved. Get going, Shepard."

"Thank you, Sir." Shepard pocketed the chit, which would let her pilot a patrol car and draw on C-Sec resources. Regular detectives and officers didn't need them, but she was just a warrant officer, not the real thing.

As she left the Executor's office, she couldn't help but smile. She'd been up half the night, but apparently, her efforts had paid off. She had expected to conduct at least two more attacks before Sparatus got anyone outside his own private security involved. Of course, there was always the possibility, however slim, that his people had traced the attack back to her and he was calling her in to confront or otherwise deal with her. But so quickly? It was _extremely _unlikely, especially since she had taken the time to route it all through servers in the Terminus.

When she rounded the corner, she nearly ran into Garrus. "Shepard," he brusquely greeted. "Got a call to subdue a few belligerent krogan that somehow got into the Presidium. One of them's apparently a biotic, too. I'm headed out now. You have things under control?" he asked. His excitement was palpable. Garrus always got a thrill out of this kind of action. Sometimes she wondered why the hell he didn't go for Spectre training or stay in the military. C-Sec had its days, but mostly it was paperwork and navigating bureaucracy.

"Absolutely. Good hunting," she confirmed, a smile spreading over her face. She couldn't have asked for a better distraction.

"I'll check in on you later," Garrus promised, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder. "They're going to leave me behind if I don't get going," he said, dropping his hand and continuing toward the armory.

"Not necessary. Watch your back, Vakarian."

"You too, Shepard."

She couldn't have planned it better.

* * *

Sparatus paced. Now that Lieutenant Shepard was finally on her way, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Knowing humans, she probably thought this was an elaborate way for him to lure her to his apartment for another... encounter. He couldn't deny that the possibility was enticing, but it was absolutely out of the question. That sort of conduct in his own home was inviting disaster. No, he needed _her_ because, surprisingly, she had proven herself trustworthy and capable, and he was certain that whatever her political ambitions were, they couldn't possibly threaten his own.

His virtual assistant flitted into the room. "Councilor, C-Sec representative Shepard has just docked."

"Show her in," he snapped, unaccountably irate with the unit's interruption. The drone buzzed away after making its generic acknowledgment, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a few more moments. He hadn't had time to hang the painting she had sent him and it still leaned against his desk. He considered tucking it into a closet or at least turning it around, but there really wasn't much point. Shepard knew he had it, and no one else would know it was her. It wasn't worth the bother.

At least Shepard hadn't kept him waiting once he went through the proper channels, as she'd insisted. Contacting her personally early this morning had been an act of desperation, and looking back, it was foolish. She was right to insist that he make a report to C-Sec directly and request his case be given to her. Clever human. He would have to watch her carefully.

The Alliance was certainly grooming her for something– probably Spectre candidacy– and they had chosen well. Allowing the humans a place among the Spectres was out of the question for political reasons, but he had to admit she seemed suitable. Her extreme loyalty to the Alliance was... unfortunate, but at least he had certain assurance that she wasn't xenophobic. Too many humans were. That was the problem with younger species– they had so many out-dated misconceptions and prejudices to overcome, and while becoming a Council Associate species tended to mature them somewhat, it also magnified the conviction of the extremists who would not allow those backward ideas to die.

"Your guest has arrived, Councilor," the VI cheerily announced, leading Shepard into the room.

"Good. Now get out. I don't want any interruptions."

"Understood, Councilor," the VI chimed before zipping away.

"Good morning, Councilor. I apologize for keeping you waiting," Shepard said, formally tapping her fingers to her chest.

"Your apology is disingenuous. You got what you wanted, Shepard," he replied. "I went through appropriate channels to get you here."

"More or less," she conceded. "You didn't report anything, you just made a very emphatic request. Pallin is curious."

"It got you here on assignment. The Executor doesn't need to know anything about this, and he knows better than to let his curiosity get in the way of his duty."

"I'll have to trust your judgment on that for now. Well, here I am. Now, what's the urgent matter?" she asked, her attention drawn to the painting she had given him. "Perhaps it was pretext to get me alone, Actaion?" she suggested.

"Careful, Lieutenant," he warned, delighted with her boldness. It made him regret the necessity of the situation.

Shepard turned her head to profile and angled her foot outward, acknowledging his anger and choosing not to engage with him over it. "Tell me what happened."

"That's it? You're not going to complain that I haven't found time to hang that painting or insist that you deserve more from me?"

"Don't stereotype me. Were you _hoping_ I would beg you for more? Maybe try to blackmail you?"

"As much as I despise the idea of you thinking I owe you anything, the thought of you begging is... strangely appealing."

"I'll keep that in mind. Assuming you didn't bring me here for that, however..."

"My personal accounts were compromised last night," he stated.

"Financial?"

"Everything," he clarified. "I need to know what in the name of the cursed spirits happened."

"Good move bringing me in," she said. "Have you told your personal security detail?"

"No."

"Again, good move. Something like that would have been easiest with access to a terminal you frequently use, or your virtual assistant, even. Of course it could have been done remotely, but if you've got a hacker of that caliber targeting you..."

"What?" he demanded, not liking her tone.

"You'll probably have to find him to prevent future attacks. I can slow him down, but... Well, let's call that worst-case scenario and worry about fixing the breach first. It was probably someone who has access to your home or office."

"My console is there," he said gesturing to the desk. "Get to work," he commanded, turning to leave. Her scent had already suffused the room and he was having difficulty keeping his mind off of what had happened _yesterday_.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay and watch," Shepard called after him.

"Why?" he warily asked.

"So you can see what I'm doing," she matter-of-factly answered. "You didn't file a report, your security doesn't know. This might get worse before it gets better and I don't want to get blamed for that."

"It won't mean anything to me."

"I'll walk you through what I'm doing in layman's terms. You could describe that to another tech expert and he could corroborate."

"Fine."

Shepard smiled and took a small device from the case she held. She attached it to the processor block and pressed a few buttons before taking a seat in his chair. "Alright, first I'm going to create a guest administrator profile. Everything I do will be tagged to that, so it'll be easy to trace my actions, and it will let me use an interface designed for _humans_," she said, her too-many fingers flying over the interface faster than he could follow. No wonder humans were so good with technology.

"Okay, let's pull the update registry and see how long this attack has been in the works," she said, and already, Sparatus found his mind drifting.

Shepard was focused single-mindedly on her task, so he felt at liberty to let his eyes roam freely. Her focus hardened her features, and for the first time since he met her, he could see her for the soldier she was. As she narrated her actions, he watched her throat and was struck by the extreme vulnerability of her species. He was used to unplated species, but even salarians and asari had tougher hide than humans. He could see her breath, her pulse, and the shifts in her throat that controlled her speech. Her skin was so thin as to be translucent– he could see the fine network of vessels that carried her blood. With interest, he noted that the branching lines were blue, not red as he would have expected. Perhaps Penephaedra had noted the same peculiar feature while painting her.

He wanted to ask Shepard about that, but he quelled his curiosity. His plates were loosening and he didn't trust himself to keep a provocative growl out of his subharmonics if he spoke. With any other human, he wouldn't worry, but Shepard just might catch it and know what it meant.

"I'm going to run a diagnostic," she said, something about her tone breaking through his reverie. "It should tell us if the attack was launched locally or from elsewhere," Shepard explained, finally turning her attention to him. "Is something wrong, Councilor?"

"Nothing," he hurriedly assured her, noting that, as he expected, his subharmonics betrayed his arousal. He could have been mistaken, but a flicker of satisfaction seemed to cross the human's features. She knew. "How long will the diagnostic take?" he gruffly demanded.

"Half an hour, maybe longer," she answered, locking eyes with him.

There was no reason to play coy or deny himself a satisfying experience at this point. And the closer she felt to him, the more influence he would have with her. "Perhaps I was too hasty, earlier," he began. "I'm afraid my schedule today is a little constraining, but if we're waiting on that program to run, perhaps we should find a more diverting use of our time."

"Ah. So now you think I owe you more? Are you going to try to blackmail me, Actaion?" she asked, lifting the smallest two fingers on her right hand to show him she was teasing. His mandibles rose and he had the impulse to roll his head. This human was charmingly fearless.

"You'd have to give me more if you want me to blackmail you, Valor," he replied, stepping out of her way as she rose to her feet.

She hummed as she walked around the desk and brushed her fingers over the top of the painting. "Why don't we figure out where to hang this?" she suggested as she removed her jacket and tossed it to the chair she had just vacated. Sparatus expected her to pick up the painting, but instead she turned her back on it and him and walked to a well-lit section of blank wall. "How about here? The light is good and you could see it while you work," she said, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it at him. He reflexively caught it. He was about to set it beside the jacket she had shed when he remembered that he _didn't_ want this to happen in his office. Instead, he picked up the jacket, intending to bring her to one of the guest rooms before she stripped out of the rest of her uniform.

"Let's see..." she began, turning her back to him and adopting a pose similar to the one portrayed in the painting. "What do you think?"

He studied her for a moment, suddenly realizing that the blue slashes in the painting were matched to scars. The marks contrasted the delicate tone of her complexion, and once again reminded him that she was a soldier and not at all as soft as she seemed.

"All wrong," he finally stated. "I'd never get anything done. Through here," he said, taking her hand to lead her to the nearest guest room. Shepard smiled coyly and allowed herself to be led. He waved her into the room and she wasted no time removing the garment covering her breasts. She let her hair down, then pulled the long, gold strands over her shoulder and once again assumed the pose from the painting.

"How much do you think you'll get done in here?" she asked, holding the pose for a moment before letting her hands fall to remove the utility belt with its dozens of pockets.

"Quality over quantity," he answered, stepping close and grasping her waist.

"If you're going to do something, do it right," Shepard said with a nod and a crooked smile over her shoulder.

He bent his head to nuzzle her silky neck and reveled in her scent. "Although, if the Alliance had a hundred more like you, maybe your people would deserve all the concessions and exceptions they demand of the Council."

"Mm. I think one of me is enough," she countered, arching her back and reaching up to thread her fingers between his horns. He thought she was probably right. What would the galaxy look like if more humans were like her?

* * *

Garrus swore and tried once more to convince himself to just drive away.

"So, Vakarian, are you going to get out or what?" Lang asked. "You said you were worried about your partner but you're just sitting here."

"Of course I'm not _worried_, but she hasn't checked in at all. I assumed our krogan problem would take longer than... whatever the Councilor has her doing for him," Garrus explained, an angry growl entering his subharmonics toward the end. The human officer was oblivious. "Besides, she's the best interrogator in C-Sec and I think those krogan were up to something. Why else would any of them try to run after they realized we were using deadly force?"

"Well, at least we brought a couple in alive. And I think you just wanted someone to brag to," Eddie surmised, "but you're too chicken to go knock on the turian Councilor's door to find her. Don't get me wrong, that was a sweet shot..."

"Five sweet shots, Eddie," Garrus interrupted, correcting the human.

"Right, five, then, but that last one, it really is something to brag about. The rest of us thought he was clean away for sure, and you dropped him with _one shot_. Krogan _never_ go down after one shot."

"They do if you know what the hell you're doing and have the right equipment."

"I have a whole new appreciation for snipers. Anyway, if you're not getting out, can we _please_ get back to HQ? You'll see her tomorrow, you know."

_Not soon enough,_ Garrus thought, once again wondering why she wouldn't answer his calls. _Because she's working and she's trying to make a good impression,_ he told himself. He didn't buy it, but he was about to undock anyway when a drone approached their patrol car.

"Looks like someone noticed us," Eddie needlessly pointed out.

"Figures. Good work today, Lang," he said, getting out of the skycar.

"Wait, before you go, I gotta ask," the human began, speaking too fast. "There's this rumor that you and Shepard are, uh... you know. But she's not actually into aliens, is she? I mean, you're not sleeping with your partner, are you?"

"That's not any of your spirit-fucking business, Lang," he snapped. "But I'll tell you this, if you think having coffee with her is going to get you some action, you're dead wrong." The human's face scrunched up in a scowl– Eddie was combative, and unconvinced. His conversation with Shepard that morning came to mind and he knew how to deter Lang. "You saw the vid, right?" he asked before Eddie could muster himself to respond.

"Everyone's seen it," Eddie said. "I watch it every night before bed, personally," Lang stated, and Garrus could have been mistaken, but he thought the human was being sarcastic, or maybe deliberately inflammatory. Either way, his tone didn't sound sincere, and that was what mattered. "Think it's really her?" Eddie asked conspiratorially.

"If you assume it is, what does it tell you about her _preferences_?" Garrus shot back.

Eddie's scowl held for a moment, then his eyes got comically wide, "Wait, she's a lesbian? Fuck. Guess I should..."

Garrus slammed the door, not caring to listen to the human any longer. The VI drone scanned him, then tried to scan the skycar. "Detective Vakarian. Please state your business," it intoned in a pleasant female voice with simulated subharmonics.

"I'm Warrant Officer Shepard's partner. She's here on assignment and I came to assist," he said, holding a hand up to shield his eyes as Lang undocked and joined the flow of traffic several stories up. "My ride just left, so I'd appreciate it if I could speak with her."

"Councilor Sparatus welcomes you. Please follow me," the drone requested, leading him into the large apartment.

The dwelling seemed empty, and Garrus barely noticed the dozens of sculptures displayed throughout the halls. He could just barely detect Shepard's scent, but it was enough that he didn't really need the VI to guide him. When they arrived in a large room that looked like a home office, the VI spun and projected a holographic avatar for him to interact with– a turian female, predictably. "Please wait here, Detective. Do you require anything?"

"Yes, my partner," he irritably answered. "Where is Shepard?"

"Lieutenant Shepard is utilizing the refresher. I predict she will return to this workstation shortly," the VI informed him.

"And where is Councilor Sparatus?"

"He presently occupies his personal suite on the upper level."

"Thank you. That's all I need," Garrus said, and the holographic avatar vanished.

"If your requirements change, please summon me," the VI pleasantly requested, highlighting a control panel installed next to the door.

Garrus waved it away, glad for a moment alone. He inspected the room more carefully. The terminal was active, and it was configured for a human. Some sort of diagnostic program had been run and its results covered three holographic displays. It looked like a mess, but it was a pretty good sign of Shepard's presence, even if her scent hadn't been on the chair.

He circled the desk and stopped cold. There was a painting leaning against the side, and it looked _very_ much like Valor._ What the hell?_ he thought, studying the painting. He used pupil motion to capture a hi-res image, then magnified the artist's mark in the corner and took a snapshot of that as well. He didn't need to, really, he recognized it from the sketches Valor had given him. The artist was Penephaedra. He tried to stay calm. There was probably an explanation for this, he just couldn't think of one that didn't make him want to tear someone apart.

He turned back to the console and captured the data from the diagnostic. He didn't know what it was at first glance, but he could look at it later. Then he turned his attention to the desk itself. It was old fashioned– probably imported from Palaven– and had a few drawers, but no locks.

Garrus quickly went through the contents of the drawers and nearly passed over a stack of blank, heavy paper when he caught a faint trace of Shepard's perfume. He snatched the papers out of the drawer and turned them over._ More sketches,_ he angrily thought._ She gave _him_ sketches, too. Faithless, bare-faced bitch. She's been playing me this whole damn time, but why?_ The answer seemed simple– she probably had some kind of fetish. Humans were notoriously hung up about sex and most of them seemed to engage in some kind of deviant sexual behavior. Just his luck that she had a kink for turians.

He captured images of all the sketches, noting that the ones she had given him seemed to be of higher quality, and that she had given him more, but her scent was unmistakably on the paper. She had handled them personally at some point. _Don't jump to conclusions, Vakarian. Maybe she saw them after the artist drew them. Maybe the artist sold these to Sparatus along with the painting,_ he reasoned. It sounded good, he wanted to believe it, but it was just too tidy. His instincts were muddled by his frustration and anger. He simply couldn't read the situation.

Just as he closed the drawer, Shepard entered the office from the back of the room. "Garrus," she said, her voice colored by surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't check in. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Trying to find a hacker," she said, her face darkening in a scowl.

"Lose track of time? It's been hours," he pointed out.

"As a matter of fact," she confirmed. "Does the Councilor know you're here?"

Sparatus entered the office from the same direction Garrus had, "I do. Officer Vakarian, your presence is not required. I was clear with your superiors, I trust no one but Shepard with this matter, but your concern for your partner is admirable."

"Thank you, Sir," Garrus muttered, trying to find a way to fight the obvious dismissal.

"Garrus is as trustworthy as I am, Councilor," Shepard chimed in. "And if he wasn't such a good detective, I think he'd be the top agent in the Network division of C-Sec. Frankly, if he had any biotics, he'd be almost as versatile as me."

"That's difficult to believe," Sparatus began, "but I'll accept your endorsement. Vakarian, my personal accounts have been compromised. That information is to stay between the three of us in this room."

"I was able to confirm it was off-site, Sir," Shepard interjected. "Now, that doesn't mean it _wasn't_ an inside job, but I can clearly trace the attack to a server on Omega."

"The hacker is on Omega?" Sparatus demanded.

"Not necessarily," Garrus answered, eager to contribute. Normally he'd stay out of it, but even without knowing the details, the implications of Shepard's statements were obvious. "He probably just routed through Omega from somewhere else."

Sparatus glanced to Shepard, who nodded. It irritated Garrus, but he kept his expression neutral.

"He's right," Shepard said. "If the hacker had access to one of your personal terminals, I doubt he would go to that kind of trouble."

"And can you fix the problem?" the Councilor asked, directing the question at Shepard.

"It's fixed, but it's only a matter of time before your security is breached again," Shepard stated.

"Then we're done here," Sparatus concluded. "I have appointments that must be kept."

"Sir, this needs immediate attention," Shepard protested. "If you won't let me finish, let me give some information to your personal security team."

"You think that's wise?" the other turian asked.

"It's better than leaving it like this," Shepard said, shaking her head. The situation must be dire indeed if she was willing to pass the job off to someone else so easily.

"Fine," Sparatus said, tapping his toes to the floor. "Leave the information with my virtual assistant. Is there anything else?"

"I suppose not. I'll compile a report for your techs," Shepard promised, turning her attention to the holographic displays in front of her.

"I love your taste in art, Councilor," Garrus said as the other turian turned to leave. "I've always thought that was one thing our culture was deficient in." Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard seemed to tense, and Sparatus definitely did. Good. He liked watching both of them squirm.

"Nonsense," Sparatus said with a flick of his wrist. "You compliment Councilor Tevos. She doesn't know when to stop buying trinkets from her silly pet artists, and then she doesn't know what to do with her acquisitions," he explained before turning once more to leave. "I'm departing in fifteen minutes. You have ten, detectives."

Shepard waited until Sparatus's steps were no longer audible before turning to him. "What the hell, Garrus? You embarrassed him."

"He has a painting of you, _naked_, sitting right over there. Don't pretend you don't know."

"Yeah, awkward moment. Penephaedra _did_ ask me to model for a reason, and it's not like I can stop her from painting whatever the hell she feels like. I'm not sure he knows it's me, though."

"Spirits, how stupid do you think I am, Valor? I'm supposed to believe it's a coincidence that he wanted you _alone_ on this case?"

"We're not talking about this right now," Shepard stiffly declared. "It can wait ten goddamned minutes, Vakarian," she snapped, turning her back on him and continuing to work.

* * *

"There were sketches, too," Garrus said without preamble the moment she closed her door.

"I didn't see any sketches, Garrus," she calmly said as she started the engines and released the mooring clamps.

"They were in the desk drawer. They smelled like you. Your perfume," Garrus sullenly said. His subharmonics betrayed his anger, but he sounded hurt as well. Perhaps he was more invested than she realized. Maybe he wasn't just using her. Most likely, he had begun feeling the effects of her pheromone-laden perfume. The mild drugs she had laced his food with probably had something to do with that as well. Of course he was just using her.

She didn't have to fake anger when she spoke. "Wait, you went through his _desk?_ While on duty?"

"It wasn't locked," Garrus dismissed, flicking his fingers.

"Don't give me that," Shepard spat, engaging the autopilot. "Where the fuck is your professionalism? Bending the rules to get the job done is one thing, Vakarian, violating a Councilor's privacy to indulge your goddamned jealousy is another."

"No harm was done. The painting was sitting right out in the open, are the sketches so different?"

"You jeopardized _my_ career for this, Garrus. I endorsed you, and we both know Pallin won't lift a talon to defend me if the Councilor finds out and takes issue with what you did."

"I'll take sole responsibility if that happens," he promised. "But it won't."

"And do you make a habit of snooping around whenever someone invites you into their home?" she demanded, trying not to smile as she waited for his response.

"When did you handle the sketches in his desk?" Garrus asked after a silent moment.

Shepard allowed herself to smile. Deflection, but poorly executed. Now, if it served her, she could reveal that she knew of the files he had taken from her collection and he would believe it was this moment that had betrayed his actions.

"Well?" Garrus demanded when she didn't answer soon enough.

"Penephaedra showed me the entire sketch book," Shepard answered. "I thought she gave me all of them, but obviously she kept some."

"Stop _lying_ to me, you bare-faced..." He snapped his mouth closed, cutting off whatever insult he had intended to deliver. "So she tricked you, kept a bunch of sketches of you, and then painted a picture and gave it all to Sparatus?" Garrus asked incredulously.

"I can't possibly know," she angrily said, realizing that her heart was hammering away. None of this should have happened. Garrus shouldn't have shown up uninvited and unannounced. She needed to get this back under control.

"How many spirit-forsaken drawings did she have time for? Weren't you a little busy fucking her and posing for the camera?" he nearly growled at her.

"Stop blaming me for the actions of others," she demanded, shocked at the quaver that had entered her voice. She _sounded_ like she cared. _I _don't_ care. I can't,_ she silently insisted. _This is a question of damage control. He's starting to doubt everything..._ She took a calming breath, which did nothing to slow her racing heart, but when she spoke, the damnable tremble was gone, "If you're going to accuse me of something, then do it already. What do you want to hear?"

"I want the truth from you," Garrus snapped without hesitation. "Are you having an affair with Sparatus?"

"Do you smell him on me?" she asked, pleased to be able to deceive without flatly lying. She had taken great care to ensure Sparatus's scent wouldn't linger on her more than could be explained by merely being in his company for half a day. Sparatus had been resistant to the idea of letting her use his shower, but when she pointed out the fact that her superiors and many of her co-workers were turian, he relented and took similar precautions, himself. Turians relied far too much on their acute sense of smell, and often believed their senses over logical reasoning. It made them easy to manipulate.

Garrus took a moment to test the air, closing his eyes as he processed the information. "No," he finally answered. "Not like that, anyway. I'm sorry, Valor."

"Is an apology supposed to excuse your _constant_ suspicion?" she asked, gentling her tone. "Why can't you bring yourself to trust me?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to sort that out."

"Can't wait until you do," Shepard said, wondering what he'd think when he decrypted some of her files. She still wasn't sure whether it would help her cause or hinder it, but some part of her feverishly anticipated the inevitable confrontation.


	9. Gift

Shepard was the expert. Garrus had to remind himself _again_ that her training was the reason why she was interrogating _his_ prisoner while he fiddled his plates and just _waited_ for her to do the job. Pallin always gave tough interrogations to Shepard because she always got results and if she crossed any legal lines, she was still technically subject to Alliance protocols, which were far more lax than C-Sec's. It was a dirty trick, but if that's all there was to work with, being squeamish only let the bad guys get away with hurting more people. Personally, he took no issue with Shepard's methods, only with the fact that nine cases out of ten, she didn't need any backup. Today, that left him sitting on the sidelines, stewing over the Councilor's _art_, and what Valor was up to with him. He knew there was no point trying to figure it out in his present mood, and luckily, he had some interesting reading to keep himself busy with.

Garrus idly paged through another chat log between Shepard's parents. He was trying to make himself go through the information chronologically and not simply rummage through the files as they decrypted. It was easier to put the full story together that way, but it wasn't easy to put off digging through everything he had beneath his talons. After a series of empty greetings and impersonal status updates narrating the dull process of Jack and Valor relocating to Illium following Mindoir, the chat he was viewing got interesting.

_CPT H Shepard: She's a menace, Jack. She has a taste for seducing my crew, particularly the soldiers. I don't know how long she's been doing it, but the first time I caught her was just after she turned fourteen. Since then, I've confirmed at least twelve more incidents, and the last one was my chief of security. And when someone turns her down, they have accidents. Since I sent her to you, I discovered three of the injuries were directly Justi's fault. She hacked the doors to close on one man, crushing his foot, overloaded a circuit board another was working on and caused some very painful burns, and tampered with the firmware in my best squad leader's gun and nearly blew his hand off– and now I'm even more glad than ever that I never allowed her a top-model bluewire device, Jack. She's a predator."_

_DESTROYER Harrow, J: "How sure are you that it wasn't your marines who were responsible, Hannah? She's gorgeous and you know how soldiers are. I guess we should have had this conversation before I got her the new model Nexus, right? And I got my hands on a Polaris bio-amp for her, too. You should see what she can do with it. She's amazing, Hannah."_

_CPT H Shepard: "So you're reading this in real time? You're a reckless idiot. Take those things away from her, or you'll regret it. There's a reason I never let her have access to _military_ grade hardware, and I told you to read the goddamned file because I haven't even told you the worst of it, yet. There are things I don't dare write about. Has she added any more notches to her belt?"_

_DESTROYER Harrow, J: "You sound angry that you have my attention. Isn't that what you wanted? As for Val, as long as she doesn't get knocked up or arrested, what business is that of mine? Leave her alone, Hannah. It's probably a phase. Boys will be boys."_

_CPT H Shepard: "She's your daughter, you jackass, and keep your inane platitudes to yourself. You don't have the first idea what it's like raising a child."_

_DESTROYER Harrow, J: "Whose fault is that, Hannah?"_

"Spirits," Garrus cursed under his breath. From his own experience with Valor, both of her parents were right about her, but Hannah's vehemence was alarming. _There has to be more,_ he thought, skipping back to the directory, looking for the file Hannah had provided Jack, which the human had apparently never bothered to review, but it turned out to be one of the most heavily encrypted. _I'll be lucky if I can crack that in five years,_ he silently lamented. "No point waiting, then," he muttered, queuing up the next decrypted file.

_Nos Astra District 3 _

_Immigrant Disputes Division_

_Complaint received 02:28 local, routed directly to IDD_

_21__st__ day, final track, 3__rd__ quarter, 2171_

_Reported assault of human female [unidentified, ident-imprint unavailable] by turian male [Serol Filos - non-citizen, ident-imprint obtained via civilian omni-tool] - alleged battery and sexual assault_

Garrus re-read the information, translating the ridiculous date into Citadel Standard. Why Illium insisted on using its own calendar was beyond him. Probably some statement about autonomy. _A few days away from the end of the year,_ he realized once he completed the calculation. He didn't know if that was significant to humans or not, but he vaguely remembered it being near some kind of holiday. It didn't matter, really, and he knew he was mentally stalling. His facial plates ached from tension. _That unidentified human female couldn't have been Valor, though,_ he tried to reassure himself. But why else would she have the file? Suddenly, he began to wish he hadn't violated her privacy like this, but he had to know more. He kept reading.

_Incident summary:_

_Witnesses and security footage confirm initial aggressor was [Serol Filos] _

_Victim [redacted] declined to defend, leaving strong but under-trained biotics unused until late in the attack._

_[redacted] charged with murder, first tier with aggravating circumstance of extreme brutality and unnecessary force_

_Note: [redacted] withheld biotic ability capable of subduing or preventing aggression peacefully_

_[redacted] charged with use of falsified identification_

_[redacted] charged with illegal consumption of intoxicants_

_[redacted] transported to District 3 Purple Shield Medical Center in custody of IDD pending transfer to Peacekeeper holding facility, legal guardian [Sys. Alliance CMDR Harrow, Jack: father] contacted_

_Examination of [redacted] confirms battery and sexual assault, DNA matching [Serol Filos]_

_[redacted] treated for extreme allergic reaction to dextro blood contamination, minor abrasions, lacerations, contusions and injuries consistent with forcible sexual activity_

_Toxicology of [redacted] confirms subject was illegally intoxicated_

_13:40, local_

_21__st__ day, final track, 3__rd__ quarter, 2171_

_[redacted] transported to District 3 juvenile detention facility pending trial_

_11:05, local_

_27__th__ day, final track, 3__rd__ quarter, 2171_

_All charges against [redacted] dropped and eradicated from official record considering age, state of mental distress, and other pertinent factors_

_[redacted] released to custody of [Sys. Alliance CMDR Harrow, Jack]_

_Witness materials and victim statement filed to case number T/H-900436 IDD, and Illium Criminal Registry case identification SHEPARD VALOR JUSTINE 6001_

_End of report_

Garrus flicked a talon through the display, dismissing the text before collapsing back into his chair. _Other pertinent factors? _he bitterly wondered. _Like her sire and mother being Alliance heavy-hitters, perhaps? _He knew it wasn't fair, and he suspected his reaction was a pathetic attempt to mentally and emotionally distance himself from what he'd just learned about her. No, Alliance military had little pull on Illium, as far as he knew. More likely, those 'other pertinent factors' had consisted of a large bribe and Serol Filos's own criminal was a file with the man's name on it in the directory, and one glance at the contents confirmed Garrus's suspicions. Valor had been the last on an appallingly long list of human and turian women Filos had abused. _He deserved it, then. And she deserved to get away with it. Hell, she didn't _get away_ with anything,_ he angrily corrected himself,_ she survived._ _Spirit-shafting bureaucracy. Of course the criminal registry couldn't use the IDD case number and preserve her privacy._

The biggest question in Garrus's mind was why Filos had been able to get away with that behavior for so long. System-jumping only went so far. The man must have had connections or credits, if not both, but at the moment, Garrus didn't have any desire to find out. His plates were hot and he was so tense, they were creaking.

"Vakarian," Pallin's voice cut through the silent observation lounge, making Garrus jump. "Where is Shepard with that krogan you and Lang pulled out of the Presidium?"

"Uh, right next door," Garrus answered, knowing _physical location_ wasn't what interested the Executor. "She's, uh, still..." Garrus lamely replied. He'd been paying no attention to the interrogation. The sound was even turned off. He reached out to the holographic interface to flick it back on, hoping Pallin would just listen for himself and stop asking him questions. Or better yet, storm off in a huff because he had better things to do. "She's been in there for two hours," Garrus commented.

"Expect it to take a lot longer," Pallin commented. "I've never seen a human break a krogan, let alone a female human. Probably one for the history books if she manages it."

"If it's possible, Shepard will do it," Garrus replied, keeping the aggressive flare of his mandibles to a minimum. Pallin grunted, his subharmonics and posture communicating agreement, to Garrus's surprise. The interrogation was conducted with few words and Garrus found his mind wandering. How could he get Shepard to talk about the... incident he'd just read about? How could he explain knowing something that had been legally eradicated? _Medical records? I really don't want to have to call the hospital, but Valor isn't stupid– I'm going to have to find those files on my own somehow. At least I know what I'm looking for._

"Spirits! What does she think she's doing?" Pallin hissed, drawing Garrus's attention back to the observation window. Shepard calmly held a high-powered taser to the prisoner's neck. The krogan stiffened as the electrical current seized the muscles in his body. Finally, Shepard stopped. The krogan sagged and _whimpered_ as the human woman, looking tiny and vulnerable in comparison to the man she dominated, turned her back on him and discarded the weapon. She picked something else up from the small table in the corner, then returned to the krogan's side. Leaning close, she whispered something to him. If the krogan had any fight in him at all, he could have easily slammed his skull into hers, breaking her nose or even giving her a concussion. But he didn't. Whatever Shepard had done, it was working.

"She's doing her job, Sir. She's good at it, remember?" Garrus belatedly replied. They were both transfixed by Shepard's actions. The object in her hand turned out to be a pair of pliers, which she attempted to use to grasp the front of her subject's cranial plate. The krogan was in a panic, only barely held by his restraints. Undaunted, Shepard aimed a precise jab at his neck, momentarily stunning the krogan, then swiftly latched onto her target with the pliers. The krogan wailed, but he held very still. His black eye went wide and fixed on Shepard.

She asked questions, which caused a clear stress response, but they went unanswered, so she torqued the pliers a little, and her subject thrashed. Garrus winced, and noted that Shepard's eyes widened as the krogan's cranial plate visibly shifted and began to pry loose. Next to him, Pallin's subharmonics literally _trilled_ with distress.

In a flood, the krogan began spouting the answers to every question Shepard had asked, as well as several she hadn't. She kept pressure on the pliers the entire time, but unless Garrus was mistaken, she was more focused on the loose plate and not letting it tear loose than the krogan's confession that he had recently been dismissed from a job guarding a farm ship just outside C-Sec patrols. Garrus forgot about the disturbing sight of what Shepard had almost done to the poor bastard in his excitement over what he was hearing. It was almost enough to drive what he just learned about Shepard from his mind as well. Almost.

"I can't believe what I just saw in there," Executor Pallin said when the prisoner finally stopped talking and Shepard released her grip on the front ridge of his plate. Pallin's subharmonics growled with disdain.

"It was... pretty brutal," Garrus admitted, wincing as he watched Shepard press down on the loose plate, producing a howl from her captive. It was probably a kindness, in all honesty, but she certainly didn't do it gently. "But she got the intel," he continued, "and that poor bastard is already healing. Technically she's not bound by C-Sec regulations."

"She may not be, but _I_ am, and so are you Vakarian," Pallin snapped, turning away just as Shepard left the interrogation room.

"Sir, that information is big," Garrus pointed out. He wanted to run and catch up with Shepard, but even if Pallin had dismissed him, he couldn't go without trying to justify Shepard's actions. They needed to be able to act on the krogan's confession. "We now know that the black market organs and genetic manipulation violations are _connected_ to a whole bunch of small-time operations, maybe even some we've had our eyes on for a while. Like the leather– we couldn't go after the unregistered leather production before because a bust wasn't worth the resources, but what he just described sounds a hell of a lot like a vorcha plantation and it's not just leather now. Finding that ship could lead us to whoever is behind..."

"That information is completely worthless, Vakarian," the Executor snapped with a flick of his talons for emphasis. "It was obtained under extreme duress, and C-Sec _won't_ profit from that kind of abuse. She damned near tore his cranial plate off with a pair of pliers. If that krogan is smart, and I hope for Shepard's sake he's not, he's going to file a suit. If that happens, she's taking full responsibility and this is the end of C-Sec accepting Alliance warrant officers. We don't need a bunch of bare-faced barbarians corrupting C-Sec's… image."

Garrus kept his expression carefully neutral. It was clear to him that 'image' was the politically correct stand-in for a reference to spirits, as ironic as it was for Pallin to censor _that_ part of the statement and not the racist epithet that it followed. _He's a lot more upset than he looks,_ Garrus realized. "I don't think she meant to, Sir," he said, a little surprised to find himself wholeheartedly wanting to back Shepard's actions. "Did you see her face when it came loose? She was horrified. Kept it together pretty well and made the most of it, but..."

"The prisoner needs medical attention, and see that he's transferred to an appropriate detention block," the other turian interrupted.

"Sir," Garrus acknowledged, shoving aside his frustration. He could still use the krogan's information to find other evidence that _was_ good enough for Pallin's C-Sec, but refusing to act on good intel was practically criminal, considering the suffering the psychotic geneticist was causing. Shepard might have some ideas. _If_ he could bring himself to try to talk to her. He sent orders to a medical team and the on-duty warden for the block of isolation cells in C-Sec's detention suite and tried not to think of the files he had decoded. It didn't work.

* * *

"_What_ is your problem, Garrus?" Shepard archly demanded. "Is this about Sparatus's art collection or what happened in the interrogation room?" She was tired of the way he was looking at her, but it was an excellent excuse for her to question him. It felt like days since she walked into the C-Sec offices just that morning. She'd gotten little sleep, her time with Sparatus had been extremely draining, and interrogations always took a lot out of her. And now they were on the brink of a huge break in potentially dozens of previously unconnected cases. The pressure was building and she hadn't had the time to set up an appropriate release. _Fighting with Garrus might do the trick. He's clearly distracted and upset, but there's no chance in hell I'm letting him squirm free. He's _mine_, now,_ she thought, a little surprised at how strongly she felt about the matter. When had it gotten so personal?

"None of that," Garrus finally said, turning his face away from her, hoping to avoid the confrontation she was itching for. "Just... seeing you in a different light. Nothing wrong, I'm just getting to know you better. Did you find anything in the spectrometer analysis?"

"Don't change the subject. Tell me what's going on," she insisted. "Why am I suddenly different?" she prompted, trying to keep her tone neutral.

"Not right now, Shepard," Garrus dismissed with finality. She raised an eyebrow, but let him continue uninterrupted. "I've been going over those anomalies Finance has been on about for the past six months and with the krogan's information, the patterns are obvious. This is huge, even bigger if the Citadel _isn't_ the heart of operations, which is seeming more and more likely as we find additional connections."

"The spectrometer analysis was inconclusive," Shepard said, willing to play along for the moment. "But I narrowed it down to three sectors and I've made a list of possible classes and models for that ship." She tossed him the datapad with her list and the possible coordinates for the ship's location.

"How can you do that if the scans were inconclusive?" Garrus said without so much as glancing at the datapad.

Shepard tapped the list, "If it was bigger, it would be easier to see. If it was smaller, they couldn't have raised enough stock to create those financial anomalies. Maybe I'm wrong, but I know ships, Garrus, remember? Anyway, I already requested some more detailed scans from Patrol, but it's going to take a few hours. They have to scan all over the place and make it look routine or we might spook the farm. Start drawing up some requisition lists and I'll go talk to Pallin. We need to move on this or they're going to relocate that ship as soon as they find out we have one of their former security guards in custody."

"I took care of that," Garrus said, his voice pitched lower than normal. "I got the medical guys to, ah, distort the paperwork. The report says all the krogan involved in the Presidium altercation were killed in the attempt to subdue."

"And who's going to take the blame for that?" she snapped. "You, or the paramedic you duped?" She could not _stand_ how much liberty he took in 'upholding' the law. _And what made him decide to commit perjury on the fly like that?_ she silently wondered. _He couldn't have known the value of such a risky move when he did it. _It was a disturbing revelation.

"No one," he hurriedly explained. "Clerical error, and he was using a turian interface for the documentation, so no one's going to think anything of it."

_You do this often?_ Shepard asked internally. It seemed like he probably did. She'd have to look into it and decide whether it was worth doing something about. Good intentions weren't enough. He needed to _be_ good. "Was the paramedic salarian or asari?" she asked.

"Human. What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," she said, getting up to go speak with Pallin about the bust._ You're going to wish it didn't, anyway,_ she mentally amended. _Yet another turian taking advantage of a human 'for the right reasons.' Fucking typical. Why did I think Garrus might be different than the rest of them?_ She got three steps away before spinning on her heel, "Garrus, you're coming over tonight and we're going to... discuss _today_, alright?" She knew she should have made it more of a request than a demand, but at the moment, she didn't care. They were doing this her way now.

Again, Garrus meekly turned his face away from her. "Actually, I think I need a little... space."

"Okay, sure," Shepard said with a shrug. "Guess I'll tell Lang I'm free for coffee, then."

Garrus's mandibles twitched. She guessed it was a suppressed flare of anger. Good. He was still feeling territorial. He exhaled gruffly before retorting, "I'll give you a ride home and we can talk then, alright?"

"Perfect," Shepard confirmed with a smile. "Requisition lists," she reminded. "Get me a range to pitch to Pallin as soon as..."

"Wait a minute," Garrus interrupted, "why don't you let me handle Pallin, Shepard? He watched your interrogation, and quite frankly, he was appalled. I think this is going to go better if you stay out of his way for a while."

Shepard scowled. That was an unfortunate turn of events. Garrus's rapport with Pallin wasn't going to get them far. "Are you kidding me?" she scoffed. "The idiot _thrashed_ while I had the pliers on him. I wasn't going to _hurt_ him, I just wanted to scare him, but he panicked. Next time I guess I'll tone back the dose of my special little 'talk to me' cocktail. I wanted him afraid and stressed, but that was over the top."

Garrus looked shocked at her admission that she'd drugged her subject. _Guess he hasn't gotten that far into those files, then_, she thought, feeling a little surge of pride and smug satisfaction, along with a hint of relief. She didn't let herself wonder what he _had_ learned about her thus far, though. It was a dangerous line of thought and she knew it.

The turian regained his wits, but his mandibles still flickered. "And you're lucky you're Alliance and Pallin doesn't think it's really his place to discipline you," he said. "I'll handle him, we'll get clearance for this operation. Besides, I'm not trained to plan this sort of mission and you are."

"Cut the flattery and get to it," Shepard said, shaking her head at his obvious attempt to soothe her pride. She made sure to smile a little as she sat back down at her desk. He was watching her _so_ carefully. If she had to guess, she would say he'd cracked some of the files from her memory chips. The ride home would be interesting_._


	10. Improv

Garrus carefully pushed Valor away from him, breaking their kiss, and he cleared the stale air from his lungs. He hadn't meant to let this happen. When they left C-Sec, he had intended only to drive her home, not to follow her into her apartment and let her initiate whatever _this_ was supposed to be. Kissing her stirred up a myriad of impulses and emotions in him, but there was only one he could act on. He couldn't do this with her and _not_ think about that spirit-spurned file. And there was no way for him to explain that to her without lying, which seemed low and despicable considering... well, what she'd been through and how much trust she'd placed in him.

Bracing himself as he realized he was going to _act_ on the most dangerous impulse he had about the situation, he just blurted it out. "I... copied the files you have in your those model ships, Valor," he admitted, his plates heating up in response to his anxiety. If she wasn't a spirit-fucking _biotic_, this wouldn't be so much of a risk.

She blinked in surprise, "You... you _what_?" she coldly demanded, recoiling from his lingering hold on her shoulders. He let her go, but not without a pang of regret.

"I even decrypted some of them," he continued. "I wish I hadn't. What I don't understand is why you'd keep _poison_ like that hanging on your wall."

"So I don't have to keep it in my head," she angrily replied. "Why the hell would you do that? What did you...?"

"Just a few files from that little personnel carrier in the middle. It was pretty confusing at first. Chat logs between your parents, some of their vid calls about you. Then the incident report from Nos Astra. Valor, I'm so sorry," he said, realizing that his apology applied equally to what he'd done and what she'd been through.

"Keep your fucking pity, Vakarian," Shepard spat, folding her arms tightly over her chest, she began to pace furiously. "It was a bad night," she snapped as she turned on her heel. "_One_ bad night. A few minutes. Some people live through nightmares ten times worse than that for years. Besides, I brought it upon myself."

"No, don't _ever_ think that," he implored, his subharmonics raw and growling. "That piece of filth is the only one to blame. You were taking risks, but what he did _wasn't_ a natural consequence of those risks."

"I was an emotionally distraught teenager with a fake ID at a sleazy bar in a rough neighborhood. I didn't have any way to get home, at that point I wasn't even sure I had a home to go to. I spent the evening dancing and drinking so heavily that I had to rely on my biotic metabolism to burn off the excess. Every male who approached me got shut down in moments. I made it clear to anyone watching that I was _alone_."

"What were you running from?" he asked, certain that she had been.

"My father," she snapped.

"What did you fight about?" Garrus hesitantly prompted.

"My fucking insecurity and childish need to feel wanted," she answered without hesitation. It raised more questions than it answered, but Garrus waited, sensing that she wanted to say more. His patience paid off. "Something that never should have been on the table to begin with," she quietly continued. "I needed to know if he took me in out of a sense of obligation or if he... actually cared."

"That's extremely common for adolescents of any species," he soothed, "particularly ones estranged from a parent."

"And that's where the 'normal' ends," Valor stated. "I did something that he still hasn't forgiven me for."

"You _do_ know how to push a guy's buttons," Garrus said, lifting a finger to let her know he was trying to lighten the mood.

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Obviously you didn't get all of those files open, Garrus."

"I didn't. And I won't," he promised, surprising himself. Well, getting _all_ of them open was probably impossible, anyway. It wasn't much of a promise.

"Good. Now get the fuck out of my house before I tell you too much and have to drag your body down to the protein vats," she said, staring him in the eye. Finally, she flicked her smallest two fingers up– she was joking. For a moment, he hadn't been sure. But did she mean she wanted him to stay or...?

"If you decide you _want_ to tell me more..." he prompted.

"I told you to leave, Vakarian," she interrupted angrily, blue biotic sparks flashing around her arms and fists. "I meant that part. Don't get the impression that this is okay or that _we're_ okay," she hissed, stalking toward him. "We're _not_. You betrayed my trust."

"I did, and I regret that," he said, holding his hands up in what he hoped he remembered correctly was a human gesture that said he didn't want a confrontation. "I've been a suspicious jackass and I'm sorry for that, but I _did_ tell you about what I've done. I don't want to lose the best partner I've ever had," he said as he backed toward the door.

"Then you'd better earn what you took. This post is only temporary for me, Vakarian," she coldly reminded him. "I have more important things to do with my life than police work," Valor added, practically shoving him out the front door. Before he could reply, the door slid shut in his face.

"That went well," he muttered sullenly. His plates were tight and hot with anxiety and distress. What had he expected? Of course she was angry. He was lucky she hadn't tossed him out without a word. Spirits, he was lucky she hadn't _attacked_ him. And despite his apologies, he was _still_ suspicious. How could he not be? He had no idea how she expected him to make it up to her, so he had little hope of satisfying the demand that he earn enough of her trust to deserve the information he had taken from her. And if he had just burned their relationship, was there a reason to stop digging? He couldn't think of one.

* * *

Cypher lifted one cocky mandible at the batarian guarding the short staircase that lead to Aria's platform. The batarian, Anto, he thought the guy's name was, certainly wasn't bright, but the bouncer recognized him and knew better than to hassle him.

Cypher wasn't used to people other than his own crew knowing his face, just his handle, but the thick yellow paint that he used to cover his blue clan markings stood out and everyone who was anyone on Omega knew him when he wore it– apparently even Aria T'loak. That little trick was priceless– it was unbelievable that a _human_ had come up with it. The best part about it was that a little solvent was all it took to become a new person.

He reached the top of the landing and assumed a dominant posture while the 'queen of Omega' sized him up. He held his mandibles wide and waited for her to speak.

"You're supposed to be this Cypher I've been hearing about?" Aria eventually asked, seemingly very bored. Well, she didn't know him. If she did, she'd show him some damned respect.

"That's me_,_" he confirmed, trying to project confidence. "Pleased to finally meet you, Aria."

"Manners aren't going to get you anywhere with me, kid," Aria sighed. "What are you doing on my station?"

"You know what I do," he replied, flicking his wrist. "Does the queen of Omega require my services or not?" he asked, growing a little bored himself. What was this, a first date? She already knew his name and his rep. Anything else was foreplay.

"Right to business? I don't think so. I don't like newcomers who think they know the score– who think they can _lie_ to Aria. What I've heard about you and what I _know_ about you doesn't add up. And that is why I wanted to meet you. Why don't you answer my questions, then we can discuss business if I like what you have to say."

Cypher stopped his initial reaction to her tone. He would _not_ display submission, but the asari's lips curled and he realized she knew how he felt anyway. Great. Well, why the void shouldn't he answer? He was safe here. Safer if Aria T'loak valued his skills. "I'm here because I couldn't stay on the Citadel," he answered.

"So you're in exile. Yes, that's what I heard. You got away hours ahead of the law. Something about you hacking skycar nav computers with a short-range proximity virus and killing a few people, hurting quite a few more. That's impressive. You look nervous, Cypher. Didn't you know you were killing people?"

"I...," he hesitated, considering lying. But without being able to call for backup, he'd better not claim to be able to do something he had no notion how to accomplish. "No. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Ah, he admits to his limitations," Aria purred, sipping at her drink. "An admirable trait in an employee, but that's a disappointing admission. And don't worry about C-Sec. They haven't followed you, and they won't."

"I'm with the Blue Suns, now, anyway," Cypher boasted. "Tarak says I'm his best tech." Even a merc would protect his most skilled hacker, wouldn't he?

"That's high praise," Aria said, her mouth twisting weirdly. "_And_ the reason you're here. First, show me your sun."

Cypher pulled his mandibles close. Aria didn't believe he'd been initiated. Well, he'd show her. He was happy to prove her wrong. Proudly, he unzipped his jacket and pulled the cloth away from his chest, displaying the half-healed, ink-filled channels to the left of his keel. Turians didn't tattoo easily, and _this_ was a piece of art and he was proud to show it. Maybe he should have gotten it in a more prominent place, though. He deserved more respect.

Aria waved one of her guards over. "Check that, make sure it's not just painted on," she commanded, and the large turian approached him and scrutinized the symbol, even running a talon over his plate. Cypher tried not to recoil or hiss in pain as the tip dug into the still-healing grooves. He could understand Aria's need to be careful, but this spirit-fucking thug had no right to touch him. Cypher studied the guard's clan markings and filed them away. He'd get his revenge.

"It's fresh, but unlike that crap all over his face, it's real," the guard pronounced.

"Are you bare-faced, kid, or are you trying to save your honor by hiding your clan mask?" Aria tauntingly asked.

Cypher stilled his fluttering mandibles. "No one asked me if I wanted clan markings. This is me making my own clan," he said, gesturing toward his face. "This is _all _me. So far, the only other person who would have been worthy to wear it was a human."

"Why?" Aria drily asked.

"She set me on the course that brought me to Omega," he answered as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He'd met her in Cerulean Star, taken her to his dive of an apartment, and it was only _after_ mind-blowing sex that she held a gun to his head and detailed all the minor heists and major felonies he'd been responsible for during his short career.

He'd have agreed to the deal she proposed even if she hadn't fucked him and without all the threats she held over him. He'd always planned to get off the Citadel, but the plan to eventually leave the station with no more than whatever he had in his pockets at her word and with no notice was the only part he hesitated over. But in return, he got an equipment upgrade, relocation expenses covered, and an unbelievable boost to his reputation. After he met her, he never had to worry about work again.

He was _good_– he could program circles around 'the pros' but she was so far out of his league, he couldn't even begin to guess at how she did what she did. And she let him take credit for it! She even used his calling card so there could be no doubt– so no other techie would dare claim responsibility for what was meant to build _his_ name. Fortunately, most people who wanted a hacker had no imagination and he'd had to ask her to step in to help him uphold his rep only twice over the eight months since they met.

But the _real_ reason she deserved the honor of his clan mask was something he'd only recently discovered. She had promised to make him a better hacker. At first he thought she was only referring to the ghost operations she let him take credit for– the supplementation of his reputation, as he thought of it. But it quickly became apparent that _somehow_ she had indeed improved his skills. It was like a magic trick, and he couldn't figure it out– not until he'd decided to upgrade the omni-tool she'd given him and found the subroutine that monitored his stress levels and responded with a targeted electromagnetic burst that reset his stress response. She had found a way to upgrade _him_ by using hardware. It blew his mind.

"A human, huh? What's her name?" Aria demanded, breaking him out of his reverie. "If she's so amazing, maybe I want _her_," she idly stated.

"She's never been for sale– only works for herself, so her name doesn't matter," he said, flicking his wrist. "I'm here, you need me. Let's talk about that."

"Alright, Cypher. I haven't decided if I like you or not, but I believe you. If you can do half of what Tarak brags you can, I can use you. And don't worry, Tarak will get his cut directly from me, so don't let him shake you down."

"The only thing that could make this sound better is if you have an actual challenge for me, Aria." Aria smiled at his reply and waved the turian guard off the platform. Cypher's mandibles pulled high– he just couldn't help it. This was supposed to be exile? He rolled his head, delighted with the current state of his life. Who knew letting Shepard burn him on the Citadel would turn out so well?

* * *

Shepard flicked through the shop's inventory console for the third time, trying to find _something_ suitable for Garrus. None of the models spoke to her, though, and there wasn't even anything she could directly connect to him– none of the class of heavy cruiser he'd served on during his mandatory military service, for example. She didn't want to try the over-priced souvenir shops in the Presidium markets, but it was that or special order something. _I can't wait that long. I need to end this._ She had half a dozen ideas about how to do that, but every time she got to the stage of planning that required resource allocation, she had stopped herself. It wasn't that she didn't want to, she did, and it ran much deeper than that– she _needed_ to.

She had been preoccupied since their last conversation, trying to decide what memories to imprint for his ship. Usually, choosing the contents of her ships' memory circuits was easy, but she couldn't very well imprint _every_ memory she had of Garrus. And beyond that, what could she possibly send to her mother to explain herself? There would be no ripples or greater effect. He was not important. The only published evidence would likely be his obituary, and that was too heavy-handed.

So even though she was ready, she couldn't finish it. Her anger with him had been real, but it was for how he affected her, and for decrypting the files far more quickly than she anticipated. She wasn't ready for him to know those things. She was furious that it _mattered_ what he thought of her.

But when it came down to it, how she felt didn't matter. Garrus was her partner. Rumors were flying through C-Sec about their so-called relationship. Pallin, himself, knew about them, or thought he didn't meet her standards, and it wouldn't work even if he did. She wasn't capable of cleaning up sufficiently or of controlling the aftermath.

_Why? Why was I so fucking sloppy with this one?_ she silently lamented. The answer was simple. She hadn't planned for this outcome. Garrus Vakarian was a distraction. He wasn't powerful or influential or even wealthy. It was never meant to go this far, and now that it had, she had lost control. _No, it's worse than that, I never had control! He's been defying me and throwing everything off from the beginning, _she vehemently accused.

She jabbed the interface to log out and stalked away, ignoring the asari attendant's overly-chipper farewell. She didn't need a ship for Garrus. There was nothing she could do about him yet and Actaion Sparatus was, ironically, a lot more accessible. That's where she would focus, at least for now.

Shepard used the transit console just outside the markets to call a cab, set the autopilot to the far side of the station, then brought her omni-tool to life. Sparatus hadn't contacted her again to finish patching up his data security, but it would be a simple matter to arrange another, more tangible breach. That would definitely get his attention, and she only needed access to his home one more time. Of course, she would prefer to use a more hands-on method, but for someone as high-profile as the turian Councilor, that would be suicide. Even a legitimate self-defense claim would destroy her career and cast far too much scrutiny on her. Her work was not only important, it was vital, and she owed it to humanity to take precautions so she'd remain able to continue.

First, she accessed Sparatus's schedule for the next cycle. He was a very busy man and there were several blocks of time when she would be able to enact the first stage of the plan that was rapidly forming.

Next, she created a filter for the feeds from the cameras in his house. She needed to know if he hired an actual person to do his cleaning and cooking or if his home was automated. The data was one of the many things she had mined from his servers during the first breach, and she had weeks, if not months of footage. Once set up, she allowed the program to run in the background, bumping it to her bio-amp's processor. She'd have a headache in fifteen minutes, but it was a small price to pay for quick results.

Finding a suitable moving and storage company was a little more difficult. She had very specific instructions for them to follow, and they needed to be able to work unsupervised. It was also important that they wouldn't ask too many questions. There weren't that many movers on the station to begin with and finding an outfit with the proper balance of integrity and underhandedness took some digging. In the end, she settled on a small operation that had just started up. Three salarian brothers and their hover-truck operator, their advertisement smacking of desperation and naivete. It would have to suffice.

She'd gotten no unexpected results from the camera filters, so she decided to go ahead and set the plan into motion. Her head already throbbed, so she terminated the program and took a few deep breaths to re-focus. The bio-amp wasn't designed to be used that way, and no matter what she did to shield herself, she always got feedback from anything that hadn't been generated by her own brain. Using it for memory review caused no problems, but shoving programs from her bluewire onto it _still_ had side-effects, even after almost ten years of tinkering. She suspected the amp was using her own brain to boost its processing power, which explained the headaches and eventual mental fog and migraines from prolonged misuse.

Already feeling better, she got back to work. She routed her call through a series of off-station servers, careful to leave enough digital breadcrumbs that would lead a nosy tech to Omega again and again if anyone managed to get that far. She used a digital mask to make herself look and sound turian while she placed the order for several of Sparatus's sculptures and the painting she had given him to be moved into storage. If the salarian thought it strange to be given digital passkeys to the house and adamant instructions to be gone by 1800 whether the job was done or not, he didn't quibble. She offered him double the rate he quoted in return for an assurance that the transaction and the job would be kept quiet and off the books. Art was an embarrassing fetish for a turian. The salarian understood.

As the connection closed, she double-checked the call data. It was a muddle– even she had trouble sorting it out, and in the end, there were three equal possibilities for call origin. Two locations on the Citadel, one on Omega. And if her false trails helped someone find Cypher, maybe that would save her from having to deal with the elusive hacker herself.

The young turian had talent, and he had already proven extremely valuable to her. He had probably been her best contingency investment to date, and their arrangement had barely cost her more than a top model bluewire device and freight-class passage from the Citadel to Omega. Unfortunately, he was all too willing to exploit the wrong people. From the very beginning, she knew she was going to have to contain him one day, but while he was still useful, she could delay that.

It took around an hour to make all the arrangements, and three circuits of the station, but it was worth it. By the time she got home, the wretched feeling of spinning out of control that Garrus had inspired was little more than a nagging irritation at the back of her mind. Her partner was a problem for another day.


	11. Translocation

"Valor, you're early," Sparatus stated, his mandibles high.

"Traffic was good. What's going on, Sir? There are bodyguards everywhere."

"They're not important. I'm glad to see you," Sparatus said, catching her hand and raising it toward his face. It was an approximation of a borrowed human gesture, and he hoped she would recognize it. "I realize it hasn't been long, but I've... missed your company."

Shepard looked surprised. "So you had me dispatched here on false pretenses, just because you missed me, Actaion? I'm flattered."

"We have half an hour," he said, dipping his face to hers to kiss her. She parted her lips and moaned as he pressed his tongue into her mouth. He loved how _receptive_ this human was to him. She was eager and enthusiastic, and he couldn't seem to get enough of her. Of course, it had to end soon. He couldn't afford to carry on with an alien long enough to risk getting caught at it, but in the mean time, it was _so_ good and he couldn't help himself. He _did _have a legitimate reason for calling her to his home, and they'd get to that, but since she had arrived early, bedding her again was an opportunity he couldn't bring himself to pass up.

* * *

Garrus tapped a datapad against his palm, agitated and frustrated. Valor was with Sparatus again– _solo_. When he'd confronted the Executor about it and demanded to be allowed to join his partner, he'd gotten a severe dressing-down. The orders were for _Shepard_ and they explicitly excluded any other officer. As he left, though, Pallin had offered him some sympathy. _Sympathy._ Which meant it wasn't all just his imagination, and there probably _was_ something going on, or at the very least, the Councilor _wanted_ there to be. The thing that really bothered him was that he couldn't tell whether Valor was lying to him about it or not. He didn't know which was worse. What was the Councilor playing at?

He couldn't answer that question and guessing was just making his plates creak with tension. The datapad in his hands– it contained a vid message for Valor. She had either ignored the call when it routed through to her bluewire, or she was using the 'tool for something else. Either way, he had a recording of the message and he couldn't decide whether to watch it or not. He'd clearly given her the impression that he was through prying into her personal life, but technically all he'd said was that he wouldn't decrypt all the files he'd taken from her miniature shipyard of mementos.

_Screw it. Maybe it's important_, he thought. If it was, maybe he could use it as an excuse to drop in and see what she was getting up to. He flicked the interface and played the vid marked "CTN D. Anderson," and a human male with dark hide and an Alliance uniform appeared.

"Not taking calls, huh?" the deep, rumbling voice that accompanied the image began. It almost sounded like the human had subharmonics, and Garrus wondered who this man was. The uniform indicated that he outranked her by a fair bit.

"Well, first of all, Valor, cut the crap. I don't like being called 'sir' on my personal account, and I gave you that contact information intentionally. If you're going to use it, respect my wishes.

"That first message you sent has me worrying about you. Doesn't sound like the Valor Shepard I know at all. But that second message sounds just like you when you're ready to push yourself through something awful for the greater good. Is it that bad? I'm surprised you're still posted with C-Sec, but I made some calls.

"I know you're working with a lot of aliens, and that's half the point of your post, but it can get tough. I have to wonder, though, is this about that sex vid scandal? I'm afraid that ugly bit of gossip is big news pretty much everywhere. I'm not even going to ask if there's any truth to it so I don't have to lie when Jack interrogates me about it again. I don't know why he assumes you'd talk to me more candidly than you do to him or Hannah, but he's certainly convinced. Maybe I should show him some of your messages sometime. It's a good thing you're more personable face-to-face, Valor.

"Anyway, I'm glad you contacted me. It's been a while since I reviewed your personnel file. Why haven't you been back to ICT? You should be N7 by now, but it looks like you have several more courses to complete. I guess that explains why I wasn't invited to a completion ceremony and why Hannah hasn't tried to flay me for sponsoring you in the first place. You know she will if you wash out. Hell, she probably will if you keep breaking records all the way to N7. There's no pleasing your mother.

"If I were you, I'd expect an invitation to finish those courses up in the near future. Don't turn it down, it won't come twice. Most special ops trainees from the Villa don't take a hiatus half as long as you have before washing out or making it all the way, so expect your instructors to be tough on you. They'll want to test your resolve and make sure you deserve to be there. I'm sure you can handle it.

"I realize being handed over to C-Sec as a warrant officer wasn't your idea, but I'm glad to see you've made something of it. Shepard is a name people on the Citadel are beginning to recognize, even the important people. And C-Sec has nothing but praise for your work. I'd say that's a job well done. Don't let the tabloid gossip get to you.

"Keep your chin up. The Alliance hasn't forgotten you, Valor."

Playback ended and Garrus tossed the datapad onto Shepard's desk. It sounded like she had reached out to a friendly superior officer fairly recently. _Was_ it about the sex tape? Shepard hadn't seemed particularly distraught over it, even if she clearly wasn't pleased by the event. And why was working with aliens such a big deal? He dismissed Anderson's comment as the man's own bias. Valor was a natural, and she was clever enough to adapt her body language to suit the species of the being she was interacting with. A lot of humans tried to do that, but Valor's attempt was the only instance of complete success he'd witnessed.

Well, whatever Valor was up to, he had work to do. Their solve rate had taken a nose dive since the skycar accident and it sounded like he might not have a partner much longer anyway.

* * *

Valor tugged her hair into a simple ponytail, annoyed that she hadn't fully anticipated the extent of Sparatus's infatuation with her. She swiped some eyeliner, lipstick and mascara onto her face– and she was lucky she had that much with her. Reapplying her perfume would have to wait until she got to her locker at C-Sec unless she stopped by her apartment before going back to work.

It shouldn't matter. The only person who was watching her _that_ closely was Garrus, and she'd barely seen him as she headed out on the Councilor's call– he was late again. Even if he noticed her scent was different than usual, maybe he'd believe she'd merely forgotten her perfume that morning. Garrus was uncomfortably observant and resourceful, though and even if he didn't catch her lack of perfume, he'd probably notice that she was wearing her hair differently and confront her about it– not that he had any right to. Well, Sparatus had lost half her hairpins. She couldn't possibly recreate the neat twist she'd been wearing earlier. Checking her appearance one final time, she left the refresher. She was far from finished with this call, though she wasn't supposed to know that yet. And sure enough, Sparatus was waiting for her in the office– tense and agitated.

"That's not the look of a satisfied man," she ventured. "Did I do something wrong, Actaion?"

"No, it's not you," he said with a flick of his wrist. "I actually did call you here for a legitimate reason, Valor. Sometime yesterday, someone managed to break in here, steal several sculptures and... a certain painting, and get away without leaving a trace. My security people are investigating, but considering your warnings, I thought having a more... objective expert might be prudent."

"I'm happy to help. Could it be a political rival? An enemy? I doubt many people know you have valuable art in your home so... Was there anything that connected the pieces that are missing?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of, other than they're all in my collection and are all some of my favorites."

"That might suggest it was done by someone who knows you pretty well, Sir."

"I _know_. But who? And what message are they sending me? They took the painting of you, Valor. Do they know about us? Could they?"

"Unless you've told someone, I doubt anyone could know that. It was probably a coincidence, not part of a message. Having a painting of a naked human is scandalous enough even if you're not carrying on with one."

"I'm glad you understand the gravity of the situation."

"Sir, it's possible... that the theft was carried out, or at least directed by the person responsible for breaching your security in the first place. He or she had unfettered access to all your personal data, so maybe that's how he knew what to take. It's also possible this hacker is working for someone."

"Find my property, Shepard. Leave the hacker to me. I have a team of experts dealing with that right now. I need that painting back, and I can't exactly trust just _anyone_ with that task."

"Alright. I'll pull some C-Sec resources, but I'll keep it quiet, off the books as much as I can. When I find what I'm looking for, I'd like to offer my assistance to your team."

Before he could respond, Sparatus's virtual assistant flitted into the room, drawing an irritated hiss from the Councilor. "What is it?" he snapped at the drone. Shepard let her expression openly show shock she didn't feel. While in motion, the drone displayed the model standard glowing orb, but when it came to rest, it was programmed to project a pretty, demure turian female. Currently, that pretty face was nowhere in evidence and Cypher's chattering turian skull had acquired the body of a shapely young girl. It looked even better than she had imagined.

"Councilor, apologies, but master Rilulan urgently wishes to speak with you. He's waiting in the hall," the drone announced, unaware that anything was amiss.

"Let him in," Sparatus said, emphatically flicking his wrist at the VI as it spun to do his bidding. "_That_ is another affront and attack on my private life I look forward to rewarding in kind," he said, noticing her apparent surprise. "Except Rilulan's team can't even find the problem with the damned thing, so I don't have any confidence in their ability to find the responsible party."

"That's a calling card, Sir. The hacker I mentioned…."

"Discuss it later, with Rilulan– after you find my property," Sparatus dismissed, his eyes on the door.

"Rilulan?" Shepard questioned. She already knew who the man was, but she shouldn't, so she had to play dumb.

"My head of electronic security. Don't introduce yourself, I want to hear what he has to say first."

Shepard carefully prevented her lip from curling in disdain. It didn't matter. She had suffered the Councilor's _company_ for this, the slight was insignificant if it built the illusion that she respected his authority.

"Sir," a short, dark turian urgently greeted as he strode into the room. "We've had a breakthrough."

"Excellent news. Tell me about it."

"Well, first of all," the tech began, glancing questioningly at Shepard before continuing, "whoever supposedly fixed the first breach left the systems wide open for the theft. Either they're the individual responsible for _everything_, or they're part of the team who is."

"What proof of that do you have?" Sparatus demanded, shifting his stance a little. Shepard ignored the fact that his new position put him at a better angle to attack or subdue her. "That _individual_ is someone I trust," he continued. "That _individual_ also warned me that the fix was temporary and incomplete. My schedule prevented thoroughness."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far, Sir," Shepard chipped in, catching Sparatus's gaze when he glanced sharply at her. "But I did warn you that I wasn't finished and the system needed immediate attention."

"It was her?" Rilulan said in disbelief, immediately producing a firearm and leveling it on Shepard's chest. The instant he moved, she prepared her biotic barriers, but kept them low enough to be almost unnoticeable. She couldn't tell whether the turians flanking her had caught the action or not. Probably not, since most turians tended to forget humans were capable of biotics. "Call C-Sec, Sir. She's responsible," Rilulan insisted, his hands steady.

Sparatus stamped his foot, drawing Rilulan's attention for a split second. The guy was obviously an amateur if he was so easily distracted. "She _is_ C-Sec, Rilulan," Sparatus informed the tech. "Put that away immediately. Unless you have solid proof that Shepard is behind this, you'd be wise to stop accusing her."

"Sir," Rilulan acknowledged, reluctantly returning his pistol to its place on his belt.

"Did you figure out where the attack was launched from?" Shepard asked, drawing the immediate and full attention of both turians. She felt small in their presence, even though Rilulan was short for his species. Instead of being intimidating, it was invigorating. She _knew_ she was more than a match for these aliens. And even better, they'd never see her for what she truly was, so they'd underestimate her until the end.

"Uh, no. We're still trying to trace it back," Rilulan admitted.

"Get back to it, Rilulan," Sparatus said by way of dismissal. Rilulan respectfully withdrew.

"I had no idea you trusted me so much," Valor said when the door slid shut.

"Nor did I," Sparatus snapped. "Is what he said true, Valor?" he demanded, aggressively stepping toward her.

She held her ground, refusing to show submission. "I'm not working with any hacker to harass you, Councilor. As to the rest, I admitted openly that my patch wasn't going to hold. I don't think I'd describe it as 'leaving the system wide open' for someone else to exploit, but that's a matter of colorful phrasing and opinion."

"You _did_ tell me to fix it properly as soon as possible. If your partner hadn't shown up, maybe this wouldn't have happened," he muttered.

"Well, I doubt Garrus is behind it," she stated, knowing that's not really what Sparatus was implying. "He lacks this kind of finesse."

Sparatus ignored her and rummaged in his desk, eventually producing a datapad. "I've prepared a file for you. It's everything that might be relevant about the sculptures. One of them is made of a rare metal, so it might not be too difficult to locate. Don't hesitate to contact me if you have questions. I'll make sure the VI knows to put your calls through, but don't abuse that privilege."

"I think you know me better than that, Actaion. Thank you. If that's all, I'll get down to the docks and make sure the art doesn't get off the Citadel, assuming it's not too late already."

"Actually, there is one more thing. Your partner seemed... territorial when he came here. What's your relationship with him?"

Shepard's temper flared. Was she so obvious? No, of course this was Garrus's fault, too. She checked her anger and frustration. She couldn't just tell Sparatus to keep his spiky, noseless face out of her business, unfortunately. "Professional," she tightly answered. "We work well together but for some reason I unnerve him and I believe he resents that I had my post at C-Sec handed to me. He can't decide whether he wants to catch me up to no good or if he wants to protect me."

"That sounds... unprofessional, Valor. It seems like a confusing relationship."

"_He_ is confused. His lack of clarity does not damage _my_ professionalism," she pointed out, her tone far colder and harder than she had intended.

"Of course. Forgive my prying. My bodyguards noticed his name on the house log and pointed out that he's a skilled sniper. If he had cause to resent me, I might be worried."

"He has no motive to threaten you, Sir, even if he knew. And I believe he'd sooner cut his own throat than attack you, even if that weren't the case. He speaks highly of you," she lied. Garrus had never spoken of Sparatus as anything other than a bureaucrat– one of the main reasons bad guys got out of cells, or worse– never set foot in one.

"Ah, yes, respect for rank. Maybe it's time I take a trip back to Palaven. I'm spending so much time around aliens that I'm forgetting what my own people are truly like."

"Perish the thought," Shepard said, wondering if she might be suffering the same affliction, considering how Garrus had affected her. She tapped her fingers to her chest and lined up her heels, excusing herself silently. Sparatus didn't so much as glance at her, which suited her well enough.

* * *

Shepard did indeed head to the docks, and she used what power C-Sec granted her to impose additional inspections of outgoing cargo. It was important that if Sparatus had someone look into her actions, she didn't do anything that would raise any flags. Once she had applied the proper mix of bribes, authority and threats, she disrupted surveillance and went to the storage unit where the art was stowed. Donning gloves and using a doctored ID badge, she entered the container. The movers had done an excellent job of ensuring everything was properly packed and undamaged– everything was even labeled. She opened one of the smaller crates and lifted out the delicate sculpture. It reminded her of a lopsided cabbage, but the important thing about it was that it was hollow, and the layers of 'leaves' made it difficult to see inside without specific effort.

She carefully laid out items from her many belt compartments. Most were far from standard-issue. Within a few minutes, she had assembled a reasonably powerful and compact explosive– one which would slide easily into the sculpture. She set the countdown for six weeks, just in case she didn't get an opportunity to remotely detonate it sooner. The rest of her plans were far more subtle.

She'd been studying the keepers since she arrived on the Citadel and the _only_ useful thing she'd determined was a list of substances, structural configurations, or electronic devices that often resulted in their presence for 'cleanup.' Usually that meant serious remodeling, sometimes even demolition. Of course, it didn't happen frequently, and it was difficult to be certain exactly what had caused the keepers to act the way they did, but she had gone over the records very carefully and she was confident she had enough information. She had already used Council resources to order upgraded superstructure braces to be mounted under several buildings in Sparatus's neighborhood. Braces that were treated with several of the materials on the list.

The work wouldn't be done for a while, yet, and when it was, it would likely take the keepers some time to react, but when they removed the braces, the structures would be seriously destabilized. All she had to do is place a small charge that would detonate when two conditions were met: the braces were removed, and Sparatus was present at home. If she did it right, the keepers would be blamed for the collapse, and there would be no deeper investigation. If she didn't, Sparatus would still be dead and no one would be able to connect her to the incident, anyway.

Now she just needed to 'find' the stolen art, detect and defuse the bomb she had just planted– or not– and, assuming the timid bastards on the operation oversight board did their damned jobs, run the bust that would put a stop to genetic experimentation, and the influx of illegal leather, organs, and 'organic' remedies on the Citadel's black market. She had no plan of action to deal with Garrus, but right now, everything seemed within her ability to handle. She'd come up with something. Perhaps the bust would afford her the opportunity she needed. It was all coming back together.

The thing Nihlus liked best about the Citadel was that it was always the same. Predictability on such a sweeping scale usually chafed, but in select cases, such as his many mandatory visits to the political, social, and economic hub of the galaxy, it was _efficient. _Since he had little choice about being here, at least the time wasted could be mitigated by careful planning.

It wasn't often that he, or any Spectre, received orders to report in person for mission assignment, though it wasn't unheard of. Usually those missions were very _personal_, and he'd made a point of familiarizing himself with recent events in Councilor Sparatus's life as he traveled. Something was definitely going on, but he hadn't been able to isolate what exactly. Nihlus chose to take that as a good sign.

After a thorough scan, security granted him entry to the Citadel tower. He hadn't announced who he was here to see, so Sparatus probably wouldn't be alerted to his arrival. _Ah, predictability,_ he smugly mused. When working, Sparatus had very poor situational awareness and Nihlus found great amusement in exploiting that failing. He silenced his steps as he neared the Councilor's office. The doors were wide open– as they should be unless a sensitive conversation was transpiring within. Other cultures didn't seem to understand the significant impact the perception of privacy and secrecy had on the corruptibility of those in power.

As expected, Sparatus was engrossed in his work and Nihlus was able to get within a dozen paces of him without detection. Decorum demanded he stop there, so he did. It was shameful that a man wielding so much power would allow his instincts to deteriorate to such a state.

"Councilor, you asked to speak with me?" Nihlus's voice sharply cut through the room, obviously jarring Sparatus from his thoughts._ The Councilor is learning to control his reaction to an unexpected visitor better at least, _he thought. He walked deeper into the office and stopped a respectful distance from the Councilor's desk.

"Nihlus," Sparatus greeted, the flustered tone in his subharmonics belying his attempt to appear calm and collected. Well, the attempt was worth something, at least. "I didn't expect you so soon," the Councilor continued.

"My last assignment concluded abruptly and I was already on my way to the Citadel when your request came through," Nihlus explained. Whatever he thought of the Councilor, he had a job to do. The time for games was over. "I'm up for routine psychological and loyalty evaluation."

"Ah, yes. I'm sure your results are more than satisfactory." Sparatus clicked his talons and pulled a prepared datapad from his desk, clearly unconcerned. Well, it was just a routine precaution, and considering the training most Spectres had, it was a formality to protect the Council if someone went rogue more than an actual screening process.

Nihlus accepted the tablet, but didn't look away from Sparatus. "I've been targeted by a hacker," the Councilor began. "My personal accounts were compromised– everything. I called in a... personal friend in C-Sec to address the problem at first, but after the second attack, I had my own tech experts run some analyses and it seems that the method Shepard used to 'fix' the first problem cleared the way for the next attack."

Nihlus flicked his mandibles, suddenly curious. He'd heard of a human by that name. "That wouldn't be Valor Shepard, would it?" he asked.

"As it happens, yes. Why? Do you know something about her?"

"I've never met her... But Saren knows her. Hates her, honestly, even more than most humans. I didn't get the impression she had done anything to deserve that, though. I'll look into it."

"No need," Sparatus said, dismissing the idea with a flick of his talons. "She did warn me that she hadn't had time to fix the breach properly. It's not her fault I didn't listen."

Nihlus wasn't convinced, and though he didn't know the Councilor well, he found it odd that Sparatus wasn't suspicious. There was more to this. "If she was working with the hacker," he began, "she would have said something like that to cover her involvement. It's not even very imaginative." Sparatus's dark look convinced him to change tracks. "Do you want an interrogation of Shepard, or am I after the hacker?"

"No, no interrogation," the Councilor snapped. "I don't have any proof that she did anything wrong and I can't see any motive."

"She's the obvious suspect, Councilor," Nihlus pointed out.

"I disagree. Both she, and my own tech expert agreed that the attack came from, or was routed through, Omega. Shepard gave me a description of the individual she believes is behind this. I want you to find him."

"And when I do find him?" Nihlus asked. Omega wasn't his kind of place. But then again, neither was the Citadel. Ships and stations were fine, but it was rugged, newly-established colonies, mining outposts, and alien wilderness where he was truly in his element. Sadly, most of his duties as a Spectre took him far from his favorite places.

"Do whatever you have to in order to permanently stop him," the Councilor instructed. "_Before_ you do that, I want you to determine his motives and identify anyone working with him. If he actually is on Omega, he's got to have accomplices."

"Why's that?"

"Some of my... personal possessions were taken a few days ago. The existing security breach was utilized."

"Again, it seems Shepard is the prime suspect. I'd like to at least interview her."

"Your suspicion is getting tiresome. Shepard isn't the issue," Sparatus dismissed.

"Then perhaps I should focus on recovering your property. I assume it was valuable."

Sparatus flicked his talons. "The cost isn't relevant, they're irreplaceable," he simply answered. "But I have Shepard working to recover them."

"You trust her that much?" Nihlus asked in disbelief. Something was definitely going on here. At a guess, the Councilor was probably having an affair with the human and had gotten emotionally attached.

"Why shouldn't I? Any political motives she might have would be damaged by making an enemy of me, and as impressive as her service record is, she honestly doesn't seem to have any ambition at all. But, assuming there _was_ a reason to distrust her... showing her that I'm suspicious would make it that much harder to catch her in the act, don't you think?"

"Alright," Nihlus said, willing to indulge the Councilor's folly. Shepard was still _his_ prime suspect, but the hacker, if he existed, might admit to working with her. That would be easier than convincing Sparatus to let him interrogate a lover. "I'm going to need more information," he said. It seemed that the Councilor believed there might have been political motives behind the burglary.

"It's all right there," Sparatus said, flicking a mandible toward the datapad in his hand.

Nihlus took a step back, clearly showing that his next statement was a _request_. "I'm sure the details are accurate, but if you'll spare me a few minutes, maybe we can uncover a relevant bit of information you might have overlooked."

Sparatus was agitated, but he conceded, "What do you want to know?"

"First, what was stolen?"

"A painting and several sculptures," Sparatus brusquely answered.

"Just art?" Nihlus asked, surprised. He'd heard of the Councilor's appreciation for alien art, but for someone to take nothing but art from a wealthy and influential turian's home was more than odd. It had to be motivated by a political agenda.

"Most of the pieces had... sentimental value. And the painting... it could cause an embarrassing situation in the wrong hands."

Now he was getting somewhere. "Do you have any images of the missing items?"

"Of course. However, as I stated, Lieutenant Shepard is handling the theft."

"Lieutenant? That's a military rank, I assume. I thought you said she was with C-Sec now."

"She's on loan from the Systems Alliance. She's more skilled and more... versatile than anyone else in C-Sec," Sparatus stated, looking surprised that he'd spoken the compliment aloud.

"That's... highly irregular."

"The humans are vying for more galactic influence. I believe they intend to put Shepard forward as a candidate for Spectre status. She'll never make it. She has no political acumen and she's already sabotaged her case beyond repair."

"I see." Nihlus kept his expression carefully neutral. That was all the confirmation he needed. A liaison with Sparatus would guarantee his opposition to the potential proposal of allowing her to be assessed for Spectre status. It was a pity. From what he had heard of her, Shepard would have made a good Spectre, and seeing Saren's reaction to not only a human, but _that_ human joining the ranks would have been priceless. But Sparatus couldn't risk being accused of favoring her because she had been his lover. It would take extreme circumstances for her to gain the needed unanimous support of the Council. "I'll contact you if I have any further questions. Thank you, Councilor."


	12. Meetings

Garrus sighed and flicked the datapad's screen, dismissing the image of a middle-aged asari– prime suspect in a recently discovered homicide. It was a rotten coincidence that the woman had also killed a C-Sec officer and wounded others before they'd discovered the corpse. The latest body hadn't been discovered for weeks, which was problematic in itself. But the biggest problem was that he had heard a _rumor_.

Someone had approached Lang, according to the human, requesting a warning be sent to the beat officers if an investigation came up about _this_ asari. Lang had mentioned it in passing, but with his focus so solidly on Valor just after her accident– right around when the recently discovered victim had been killed– he hadn't really given it much thought. Now, though, it seemed possible that some members of C-Sec might have taken justice into their own hands. Poor bastards had no idea the woman was going to become the prime suspect in another homicide a few weeks down the road. But the important fact was that they were his brothers in arms– if he could deflect an investigation, knowing it would only lead to more heartache and good men being punished for simply taking a little too much liberty in how they did their jobs, he would do it without hesitation.

"Suicide," Garrus stated, not even trying to mask his irritation. He knew Shepard– always by the book and more concerned with protocol than results– was about to argue. It had been difficult working with Shepard since her last house call for Sparatus. He couldn't find any evidence that she was having sex with the Councilor, but he couldn't bring himself to dismiss the possibility. Her scent was different that afternoon, but if anything it was more purely _her_ scent than anything. Since then, her perfume had seemed absolutely cloying to him. The effort it took to keep a clear head and stay focused was certainly not helping his patience.

"Are you kidding?" Valor demanded, equally irritated. "Ignoring the obvious fact that he didn't inflict those wounds on himself, the weapon that killed him was an asari commando's knife. Where would he get something like that, and why would he use it to kill himself?"

"But his family's never going to question our ruling," he argued. "At this point, the body is so dessicated that no one is going to want to see the remains before burial. And his bondmate expressed concerns that he was behaving strangely and might have been depressed before he died."

"So you're okay with letting his murderer walk free?" Shepard demanded, disgust plain on her face.

"We're never going to catch the bitch anyway. She's gone– given her supposed mental condition, she might be dead by now anyway. We should give his family some closure. I understand there's a stigma attached to suicide for humans. Turians are different."

"It doesn't matter if we can catch her– it's our job to try. That bitch has a body count," Valor pointed out heatedly. "She's mentally unstable, and you're just going to lie and say this was suicide so we don't have to try and catch her?" Shepard demanded in disbelief and outrage. "Like you said, the asari's probably already dead, so it shouldn't be hard, but we have to do our jobs. Get to work tracking her down or Pallin's going to hear about this, Vakarian," she warned.

"No need for that. You're right," Garrus grudgingly admitted. "We even know the name of the woman who owns the knife, but if there's a warrant out there and she turns up dead, there'll be _another_ investigation and it's going to complicate this one."

"If by complication, you mean extra paperwork, then maybe you're right. We can handle it," Valor firmly stated.

"What if the person or people responsible for her death... knew she deserved it?" he asked.

Shepard's eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. "If you're saying what I think you are, you've misjudged me. If you know something, you'd better tell me now or I _will_ report this, Vakarian."

Stubborn woman. Of course she wouldn't let it go. "You've got me wrong, Shepard," he snapped, "I'm no vigilante, but this asari we're looking for has C-Sec blood on her hands and no one was happy about that. And before you decide to report me over this, there was one thing that made me wonder if that asari was actually responsible."

"Oh?" Shepard prompted.

"The suspect isn't left-handed, but the simulation was pretty clear. Whoever killed Avitus used her left hand."

"Are you kidding? That's weak. Maybe he fought back and her dominant hand was injured so she switched." Shepard grabbed the datapad with the case files and found a holo model of Avitus's injuries. "These cuts here were made right-handed. See the angle? You can tell because the leading edge is ragged, consistent with the serration and wear on the blade, and the angle is too awkward for a left-handed stroke. She switched hands before the killing blow. A skilled warrior isn't limited by that kind of thing."

"Huh. We should add that to the report. How sure are you?" he asked, trying to keep his cool. He couldn't pin it down, but his intuition told him this was important somehow.

Shepard magnified the wounds to fill the screen, then pantomimed all the cuts with each hand. Some of them were too awkward to complete with the left, while some were next to impossible using only the right. "See for yourself," she said. "It's obvious. I think this is a perfect example of why the simulations are a poor substitute for actual holographic photography. Turians should make an exception for law enforcement on that taboo about recording the images of the dead."

"It'll never happen," Garrus dismissed. He happened to agree– to a point, but it was such a deep-seated superstition and honestly, he wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be _looking_ at recordings of dead turians. It wasn't worth discussing at the moment. "Did you know humans are one of the only species that shows any real variation in dominant hand? Salarians are all left-handed, asari and turians are right-handed. Krogan are ambidextrous."

"Yes, I'm aware," Shepard said with feigned patience.

"I've noticed you're left-handed, Shepard," Garrus levelly stated.

"Of course you did, you've been stalking me," Valor said, but she continued before he could argue, "though actually, I'm ambidextrous, just like a krogan."

"What a coincidence," he said, not taking his eyes off her.

Valor met his gaze steadily for a moment before speaking. "Somehow I get the feeling you're planning to make your own report on the evidence for this case and that you're not going to suggest that it was suicide. Why don't you tell me what you have in mind?" she coldly suggested.

"It_ is_ pretty obvious it wasn't suicide, isn't it?" he conversationally began. "There are more plausible explanations," he said, pointedly staring at her.

"Just say it, Vakarian. If you've got a scenario worked out, let's hear it."

"Scenario? No. I was just looking at the profile the lab worked up and it reminded me of you."

"Female, unattached, military or hand-to-hand combat training, attracted to turians and what? Sinister or ambidextrous," she spouted off, either from memory or on-the-fly deduction.

"Wait, what was that? I think my translator… _malevolent_ or ambidextrous? What is that supposed to mean?" Garrus asked, a shiver skittering over his plates at what seemed like a subconscious slip on her part.

Valor shot him an irritated look. "Sinister means left-handed as well as malevolent. Humans considered it an ill omen for centuries. Sounds like you need a translator update. Of course, I suppose both definitions fit the murderer. Now stop trying to distract me. That description fits a lot of people," she concluded.

A quick extranet search confirmed her definition and he cued a download for a translator patch before returning his focus to the matter at hand. It didn't make a lot of sense to him, but either way, she hit every major point in the report. "But not many asari once you get to that last one," Garrus pointed out. "You were in the general neighborhood of the tenement that night and you did turn up pretty badly injured. You broke your left arm, didn't you?"

"And you know exactly how."

"I know the skycar pileup wasn't exactly an accident. _Somebody_ caused it, and other than revenge against _you_ for that failed arrest attempt, no one can come up with any motive."

"Stop right there. Let me get this straight. You're saying I somehow got my hands on an asari commando's knife, and not just any knife, one belonging to a woman who has literally centuries of combat training and battle experience, is mentally unstable and fatally violent and _also _happens to favor turian bondmates. Then I seduced a slightly unhappily bonded man, killed him and fled the scene after destroying any evidence that I was there, leaving the knife in order to cover my tracks and throw off the investigation. That would explain the presence of the substance that caused the body to deteriorate so rapidly. How am I doing?"

"Shepard, don't..." Garrus began, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

"Next, I went to Cerulean Star," she said with a shrug, "where I met and paid a hacker to destroy the electronic evidence of my presence in the tenement and... did I pay for the virus that caused the pileup or did he throw that in gratis?"

"Shepard, stop. This is demented," Garrus protested. His plates itched and a sick feeling was settling in the pit of his gut. The way she said it all made it sound completely outrageous, but her _scenario_ had more of the ring of truth than he'd heard from her, maybe ever. He had to be wrong, but for all he tried to reject the idea, this sounded like a _confession_.

"No, wait, it must have been intended, right?" she continued thoughtfully. "Injured in the scuffle before I killed Avitus, I needed an unquestioned trip to the hospital. So there you go. Or maybe I never met a hacker, and I just did all that myself. A contingency plan in case I needed medical care with no questions asked. It was just a coincidence that you found someone matching my bogus description leaving the station during the correct time frame. Why not? Other than the complete lack of human DNA at the crime scene, it all fits. Other than _evidence, _all your scenario is missing is a motive, Garrus."

_Not my scenario, Valor. I didn't put half of that together. So now I just need the motive and I'll know what happened, not that I can _prove_ it. _"What about Serol Filos– what he did to you? Maybe you went to that tenement with Avitus and didn't like how he treated you, so you decided to kill him."

"You're reaching. Why would I have the knife and the means to erase my presence there if I had not planned to kill him going in? But the biggest problem with the scenario is that none of it is true." She leaned closer, holding his gaze, "Well, you had better _hope_ it's not true, because if I'm cold and devious enough to pull all that off, revealing your suspicion to me has put you in _grave_ danger."

He released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and the itchy feeling and his certainty of her guilt became clouded. It sounded exactly as ridiculous as she seemed to think it was. He couldn't completely shake his suspicion, and now that he knew what to look for, maybe he could find the evidence and motive that were still missing. "Knock it off, Valor," he said, dismissing her pseudo-threat. "I know I've been a complete jackass. Obviously you didn't do that. That's the kind of crap bad movies– shit like Blasto and its excessive sequels– are made of."

Shepard suddenly laughed– she sounded relieved. "Oh good," she said with too much feeling– her smile was too bright as well. "So now that the suspicion is out of your system," she continued, the smile melting into a scowl as she spoke, "may we get some work done during short phase where you trust me?" she acidly asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your fucking cycle of trust and obligation versus suspicion. How often are C-Sec detectives put through psychological testing?" she questioned pointedly.

"Suspicion is an asset in my line of work, Valor. And I don't think _my_ mental state is what we need to be worrying about," he countered.

Her face showed surprise, "Meaning mine is? You want to see my last psych evaluation? It was two months ago. They won't let_ me_ see it, but maybe it will shed some light on the _criminal_ workings of my mind. What do you think, shall we get you a copy?"

"I did see it, as a matter of fact," he admitted. It was yet another artifact in a collection of perfect, pristine facts about Valor Shepard. "You were investigated before you were reinstated. We were going to require testing but the Alliance produced some very thorough documentation and Pallin accepted it in place of our own evaluation." Garrus still thought the Alliance dossier had been carefully tailored and possibly edited before being presented to C-Sec, but he couldn't prove a damned thing and even though he had insisted that independent evaluations were necessary after something like the accident, no one had listened.

"Pallin let you lead the investigation into your own goddamned partner?" Shepard spat, clearly furious. "What kind of slipshod police work is that?"

"He... didn't exactly. I just helped Lang out with some of the grunt work. He was swamped. I stepped in."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "You were right– we're not getting anything done. I really wanted it to work out, but it just keeps getting worse with each attempt."

"Shepard, I _know_ this is a mess," he said, trying to soothe her. Right now, he needed to convince her that he wasn't suspicious anymore and that he was sorry. Of course, he'd have to do it without actually apologizing, because he'd be damned before he apologized to her again. "For some reason, you seemed like you were hiding something and I couldn't find proof of anything amiss after the accident. I thought maybe you weren't trying to _arrest_ that hacker at first and that was why it seemed off, so I tried to let it go. Then they found Avitus and it turns out he'd been killed that same night. I let it distract me."

"Damn right you did. This isn't just a mess, it's a disgrace. There's a difference between you and I– and it's the same difference between police and soldiers. You should be the one holding _me_ to a higher standard here. I understand that your _culture_ forces every citizen to enlist, so you don't exactly have a reason to understand the concept of civilians or civilian police forces, but that doesn't excuse your failure to appreciate the distinction between them and military aspects. The fact that Eddie _let_ you stick your nose into something you should have felt obligated to recuse yourself from entirely makes me think this is a problem with C-Sec, not your fucking culture, Vakarian. It's disturbing."

Garrus carefully controlled his reaction. She was technically correct, but he still felt that in this case, he had not only the right, but the responsibility to do what he'd done. "If you were a civilian, you'd be right. But, like you said, you're a soldier. And you're my partner. Whatever you do reflects on me, like it or not. I have an interest in knowing all I can about you."

"Do you treat all your partners like this, then? Or is this because I'm human? Alliance and not actually C-Sec? Or because I'm female? For all that turians claim a gender-blind culture, I haven't seen very many females around at all."

"Females are usually drawn to different work than males," he explained.

"Which is exactly what gender roles are all about, Vakarian. And I guess I have my answer," she said as she gathered up her case files. "We have a meeting with Pallin and the heads of Patrol and Special Response. Shelve this until we get our requisitions and mission op approved to bring in that farm ship, will you?"

"Sure," he said, helping her with the materials they'd need and falling into step behind her. His emotions simmered, but he set them aside. It wasn't the time to let his judgment get clouded by suspicion. She did good work and there were a lot of things he liked about Shepard. His gaze slinked down her body and he couldn't help but appreciate how fluidly she moved, and as her scent filled the air around him, he decided that those were two of the best things about her. By the time they got to the boardroom, his suspicions about her were beginning to feel more than a little unfounded.

* * *

Nihlus deftly secured the mag-cuffs to the bulkhead of the small chamber. The shackles on his prisoner's ankles were next, and for all the curses and threats the kid was spewing, he put up very little physical resistance.

"You don't know who you're messing with, let me go!" the kid demanded, the cocky jut of his mandibles proving he had no idea who he was speaking to. "Aria's going to be _pissed_ when she finds out you fucked with me, pal."

"Aria told me where to find you. She and I go way back," Nihlus informed the hacker. Finding Cypher had been a simple matter of asking Aria where to look for the arrogant fledgling once he got to Omega. Nihlus spent a few cycles building up a profile on the kid and researching his recent activity, but someone like _this_ didn't warrant much preparation.

"No," the kid said, the word a disbelieving plea. "She wouldn't. I work for her and she _likes_ me."

"Ooh, I wouldn't let her hear you say that. You're a useful _pet_ to that woman. She doesn't expect to see you grow into your plates. And you won't unless you answer my questions."

"Fuck you. You're lying and Aria's going to pry your plates off for this. Unless you let me go."

Nihlus tried not to let his mandibles rise in amusement at the kid's attempt to manipulate him. "Only the truth can buy your freedom, Cypher. My name is Nihlus. Do you know it?"

"Nihlus? Nilus Kryik?" the kid whispered, awestruck and terrified. He turned his face away and cast his eyes to the ceiling. "You're a Spectre," he shakily stated.

"Good lad. So now you'll stop trying to intimidate me, I hope. Amusing as that was, it's wasting my very valuable time. I just have some questions. You don't mind giving me some answers, do you?"

"I've got nothing to hide. What do you want to know?"

"Good," Nihlus muttered. He'd believe Cypher's show of cooperation when he had the truth. "Why did you come to Omega?"

"Citadel was too hot. I had to get off that station fast. You here for C-Sec?"

"No," Nihlus answered. He wasn't here to take the kid back, and there was no need to lie about that. "Elaborate. Why couldn't you stay?"

Cypher flicked his mandibles."You know what I did or you wouldn't be here."

"This isn't about what I know, it's about what _you_ know."

"I crashed some skycars," Cypher flippantly answered. Too easy. His subharmonics were flat– there was no emotional connection to the admission.

"People died," Nihlus mildly pointed out. "Why did you do it?"

"Why the fuck not? If you could do that, wouldn't you?" the hacker asked. This time, there was longing in his subharmonics. _Longing_, not pride. Interrogating a juvenile was too easy. He had no control.

"No, I wouldn't," Nihlus evenly replied. "My patience is wearing thin and you still haven't answered three questions clearly."

"I left because of some drunk slut who started hitting on me on the dance floor."

"So you left because you met Lieutenant Shepard?"

"I have no idea who that is," Cypher said, a hint of fear in his subharmonics. Was he afraid of Shepard? More afraid of her than the Spectre questioning him?

"The 'drunk slut,' presumably," Nihlus drily answered, playing along with the kid's lie. "Tell me about her."

"She was _hot_ and when she walked up I knew she was going to ask me to fuck her. I could _smell _how bad she wanted it. Never really been into humans, though."

"So it might have been Shepard after all. She's a human, you know. She's not bad looking for one of them," Nihlus said, hoping his approval would set Cypher more at ease. "So you _didn't_ get a piece of that?"

"I didn't say _that_, old man," Cypher said with a repulsive layer of smugness in his subharmonics.

"So you left the club with her?"

"Sure. We left the club. When we got to my place, she dropped her pants and took it like a champ. Humans are even hotter than asari. She was fucking amazing. And she even had the medicine she needed to counter her allergic reaction. Good thing, because there's no way I was going to call a fucking hospital for her."

Nihlus quelled his disgust. He promised himself that he'd get the yellow paint off Cypher's face– see who the kid really was– before he left Omega. Right now, the story he was being fed had just begun to unravel. "She wasn't wearing a skirt?" he asked.

"What? Uh, she took it all off. I wasn't paying attention," Cypher said with a dismissive flick of one mandible. Nihlus could tell he was nervous, but it wasn't clear the cause was his questions or a sign the kid was lying.

"And why would you? The clothes come off, and that's what's important," Nihlus conversationally agreed. "So, you had sex with her. When did she flash her badge?"

"Later."

Unhelpful. Nihlus didn't believe it. "Did you do something to provoke that?" Shepard's statement detailed a different meeting with this young hacker, but maybe there was a seed of truth to it.

"No way. Got no idea why she lost it," Cypher replied without hesitation– and without any emotional underscoring in his subharmonics.

"How did you get away?" Nihlus asked. Shepard claimed she'd been hit from behind. If that was the case, Cypher would probably jump at the opportunity to shift some scrutiny to the responsible individual.

"Got lucky," the hacker said, flicking his mandibles twice.

"Okay. So tell me again how you met Valor."

"Old man, I told you already. Got a new question?"

Cypher had claimed not to know 'Lieutenant Shepard,' but he knew her first name. Odd. "Huh. So did she introduce herself?"

"No, I told her my handle and she just jumped on me."

"And did she know who 'Cypher' was?"

"Yeah, she knew. Later I found out why– she was there to bust me."

"So it wasn't just a coincidence that she met you?"

"You should really be asking her this shit." Again, the kid's subharmonics were laced with fear. "Is that it? Can I go? Let me down, my hands are getting numb."

"We're just getting started, son," Nihlus sighed. He was certain someone was lying, but he couldn't tell if it was this punk or Valor Shepard. Of course, it might be both. Since he only had Cypher and he didn't care to cross Aria by transporting the kid back to the Citadel, he needed to be thorough.

"What the fuck is that?" Cypher demanded, craning his neck to see what Nihlus was doing.

"Something to help you feel like telling me the truth. Don't worry, I do this all the time when people lie to me– it works very well. Of course, if I get the dosage wrong, you might not ever fully snap out of it, so you should definitely stop distracting me," Nihlus said. Narcosynthesis was his favored interrogation method. Some people claimed you couldn't trust the results, but those people had obviously never practiced the method themselves. Now that he knew Cypher's lie, he was looking forward to learning the truth.

* * *

Shepard left the conference room a few minutes behind Garrus. Pallin had finally decided to confront her about her interrogation techniques, but at least he'd waited until _after_ the meeting, and despite his distaste for her actions, he had strongly advocated for the operation.

Shepard rounded the corner and stopped cold when the office space she shared with Garrus came into view. The tall, sandy-haired man in her office speaking to Garrus had turned just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his face. Garrus caught sight of her as she was contemplating making a break for the lift, and he waved her over, prompting Jack Harrow to look over his shoulder. She took a deep breath and hoped neither of them noticed the falter in her stride.

"I'll, uh, leave you two to catch up," Garrus said, rising to leave as Valor approached. "It was an honor to meet you, Sir," he said to Jack, awkwardly shaking the human's hand.

"Likewise, detective Vakarian."

"I had no idea you were on the Citadel, Sir," Valor said as Garrus left.

"Just passing through. It's been a long time," he said.

"Yes, it has," she agreed. "I don't really have time to waste, so I'm going to be blunt. You've been on the Citadel four times since I was posted here, and there have been six other opportunities over the years for you to drop in. You never did. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to take you to lunch, Val," he said, smiling at her. "And I have a birthday present for you, too."

"You're either five months early or seven late, then," she informed him, dismissively.

"I know that. Come on, Val, I'm trying to mend this."

"Alright," she sighed. "But I've explained and apologized and fucking groveled all I ever intend to, so cut and run right now if you think you're getting that from me."

"Groveling? That was… wow. I definitely wouldn't call it that. Your pride is worse than your mother's and mine together, Val."

"This doesn't need to get ugly," Shepard bit out, choosing not to directly engage, "but I've made efforts over the years– you really haven't."

"And that was wrong of me," he immediately offered. He _sounded_ sincere. She didn't believe it. "Come on, don't make me beg."

"Certainly don't want to see that," Valor drily remarked, waving him to follow her. She'd be damned before she let him take control of the situation. For the first time since she had totaled her skycar, she regretted not replacing it. Maybe Garrus would let her borrow his for the afternoon. "Excuse me while I let Vakarian know we're out of his workspace. We just got out of a pretty tough meeting but our cases don't solve themselves," she muttered as she began composing a brief message.

_Shepard: Office clear– Jack and I are going out for my birthday. May I borrow your car?_ She sent the line of text and waited impatiently for the lift.

When the doors opened, Garrus stepped off. "Valor, glad I caught you. I grabbed your key by mistake," he said, tossing his key to her. "Guess you're headed out?"

"We are. Try and track down that suspect we discussed earlier, and let me know right away if our bust gets approved," she requested.

"Of course. Drive carefully. It'd be a shame to total _another_ skycar so soon," he pointedly stated.

Valor flicked her wrist and stepped onto the lift without a word, Jack close behind. She was grateful that Garrus had been so cooperative. She expected him to argue with her, or at least throw a fit about her snapping _orders_ while she skipped out on him. The doors closed and her 'tool chimed.

_Vakarian: What the hell? It's not your birthday. Put a scratch on the car and you can buy me a new one. Parked on dock 9, space 23._ _It'd be nice if I don't have to take transit home tonight._

She closed the message quickly, not wanting to explain anything to her father.

"So your partner's a turian," Jack tentatively ventured.

"Astute observation," she said, wondering if she should be trying to be more friendly. Something about his sudden appearance didn't feel right. Why, after so many years would he decide to finally forgive her and try to reconnect? No, there was something else going on. After the message from Anderson, she wondered if he might have sent Jack to check on her.

"I guess you work with a lot of aliens in C-Sec, though. Not like the Alliance."

He was _definitely_ probing, but was it to satisfy his own curiosity about his daughter, or was he going to be reporting this to someone else? "It's not a problem," she lightly stated. "Garrus and I get along very well and we compliment each other on the job. I do miss the Alliance, though. I enlisted with the military for a reason– I never wanted to work law enforcement." She hurried through the parking dock to Garrus's skycar and took the driver's seat before Jack could ask to drive. If he did, she would tell him _no_ of course, she needed at least this much control over the sudden and unexpected meeting.

"You never really had any other examples, though, did you?" he mused. "You have to have had second thoughts about a military career."

"Why? You're the one who said I was perfectly suited to it. Even before that, I never wanted anything else. Nothing has changed. I thought you'd be pleased. Hannah's still mortified that I enlisted _and_ she has no respect for what soldiers like you and I do, but I'm following in your footsteps, Jack. Doesn't that count for something?" she asked, more than a little sarcastically. Her tone wasn't lost on him.

"You know, I watched the ceremonies after the Blitz and even after Torfan, Val," he said after a moment of thought.

"So did half the human population of the galaxy, along with just as many aliens," she dismissed. Of course he'd watched. Everyone in the Alliance had.

"I wanted to call. I should have gotten in touch before now, I know. I wish I had, I just couldn't."

"You have been in touch," she pointed out. At least as much as Hannah had ever bothered. Neither of them knew what to say to her.

"Not like I should have," he argued. "Our message history reads like a very sparse series of status updates. It's disgraceful. I think you talk to Anderson more than you do to me."

"What do you feel like for lunch?" she brightly asked, happy to change the subject as they finally cleared the parking docks and merged with the flow of traffic.

"You pick. I'm buying."


	13. Observance

Jack smiled at the sight of Valor resting her hand lightly on the antique, wooden box that held his great-grandfather's much-loved six-shooter and matching bowie knife. The gun still worked, and he'd included the specifications for fabricating ammo for the damned thing, but it was the knife that seemed to really get Valor's attention. If he was honest, that had been his favorite of the set, as well. Giving it to her felt... right. It had been passed down to the firstborn in each generation. Jack's mother had possessed it before him, and as soon as he found out Hannah had given birth to his daughter, he'd been looking forward to passing it on and continuing the family tradition.

Valor carefully removed her hand from the box and turned her attention to him, "Why did you come here, Jack? I'm glad you did, this has been... good. But I can't help but think you're not just here on a whim."

Perceptive as always. Why would he expect that to change? She'd always been half a dozen steps ahead of him. "Yeah, I guess not. For one thing, I've been concerned. You've been getting a lot of... attention."

"The sex vid," Valor stated, unapologetic for her bluntness, just like she had been as an adolescent.

Well, two could play at that. "Was it really you or is it a hoax someone cooked up to smear your reputation?" he asked.

"My _reputation_?" she scoffed. "Jack, it has had no negative impact on my career or my personal life," she claimed.

"That wasn't an answer," he countered. He was a little startled to realize how invested he was in her reply.

"Okay, I'll tell you, and I'll answer any other questions you feel like you have to ask me face-to-face so you don't have to go through this again," she coldly offered. "But then you answer one for me."

He knew he shouldn't. A bargain like that with her was a trap. "Deal," he agreed anyway.

"Yes, it was me," she said, a cruel twist to her lips as he fixed his gaze on the table. His stomach flipped. Of course it was really her. He'd known it was the first time he'd heard the claim, but no man wanted to hear that about his daughter, no matter how long they'd been estranged.

"The asari coerced me," Valor continued, matter-of-fact and businesslike. He very much doubted that Valor meant the same thing anyone else would when using those words. "I think she was trying to make herself a politically unacceptable lover for Councilor Tevos," she continued, her voice like ice.

"You crossed a Councilor for that?" he asked, alarmed at the implications that might have for her career. It was bad enough that the vid was out there, he hadn't even considered what it might mean if she'd made _enemies_ because of it.

"Not intentionally, and no one has been able to prove it is me," she said in too-precise tones. "She cut out any footage of my face, my tattoo, or my voice before releasing the vid to the press. That could be any blonde human woman."

No point worrying now. And it wasn't as if she needed _his_ protection. She'd done fine without him her whole life. He sighed, searching for something else to say. "Tattoo?" Jack asked, a little wary. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Valor smiled tightly and unzipped her jacket, pulled her arm free and rolled up her sleeve, displaying the Alliance stars and arch in perfect blue on her shoulder. It looked freshly healed. "Tattoo," she introduced. "Careful, Jack, that almost sounded like fatherly overprotectiveness," she said as she readjusted her clothing.

"No, it looks great," he said with a dismissive wave. "How long have you had it?"

"Since the day I enlisted. I wasn't sure if you and Hannah were going to have me pulled out and locked up again, so I had to give myself something permanent. I just had it touched up."

Jack let his regret show. Of all the mistakes he'd made with his personal life, he regretted how he'd handled his relationship with his daughter the most. "We were never against you, Val. We thought... _I_ thought we were helping. Looks like you did just fine for yourself without us, though, so I'm sorry we put you through that."

"Thank you. And thank you for the support from the sidelines. Any other questions for me?"

He tried to smile, and thought he'd done a pretty good job of seeming genuine. What else should he ask? He hoped this was the beginning of them communicating more openly. He still wanted what he'd always wanted– to be part of her life, and at the moment, it almost seemed within reach. Maybe this time... "Yeah, you got a boyfriend or, er... girlfriend I should meet?"

Valor offered him a small smile, "No."

"No, you don't have one, or no, you don't want to introduce me?" he asked, flashing her a smile.

"Are you hoping for an ally in some sordid endeavor?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone. "My tastes have changed since Illium," she warned, though her tone was conversational enough. "I'm not as taken with older military types anymore." He tried not to flinch. This wasn't where he wanted the discussion to go. "Or maybe you're hoping I have a nice girlfriend you can steal out from under me."

"Younger women are too much of a handful," he stated. "I learned that lesson. Look, it's okay, I just wanted to try and fix things for us, maybe actually be part of your life again. We're not there, yet. That's okay."

Valor regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "There isn't anyone for me to introduce you to, Jack. Garrus is as close as it gets."

Her partner? They seemed tense around one another, and when he'd spoken with Vakarian, the turian had asked some strange questions. It didn't seem like they had a friendly relationship at all. "A turian? Really?" he couldn't help himself.

Valor shrugged and held his gaze steadily. "So, do I get to ask my question now?"

"Sure, Val," he conceded, wondering what trap he'd just sprung.

She smiled and leaned close, tucking her long hair behind an ear. He remembered the little mannerism well from the brief time she'd lived with him, and he had the sudden impression that she'd let her hair down when they got to the restaurant just for this moment. "How many times did you watch the vid yourself, Jack? Did you enjoy it as much as the men in your command?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing she was probably basking in his reaction. "You haven't fucking changed at all," he spat, angry with himself for walking right into it, for expecting anything different from her.

"That's not an answer," she said with false cheer. "You promised you'd answer," she reminded, her tones low and sultry.

"I didn't watch it _once_ after I knew who it was supposed to be, and I didn't let anyone under my command waste their time on it either," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Again, not an answer to the question I asked," she mercilessly stated, her smile slipping a little.

"I should have known this was a mistake," he said, combing his fingers through his hair. _Why am I letting this get under my skin? That's exactly what she wants,_ he angrily thought, trying to calm himself down.

"Come on," she coaxed, leaning an elbow on the table and propping her chin on her fist. "Where's your courage, Jack?"

"Why would I count?" he snapped.

Valor feigned surprise and hid a grin. "That many? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or disturbed."

"Someone downloaded it before we were deployed," he explained. "My unit was out of contact for while. The vid circulated for a while before I knew what it was. As soon as someone connected your name to it, I made sure it was purged from every bluewire in my unit."

"Very noble," she said, straightening up and abandoning her little act. He liked her tone cold and emotionless better, and that surprised him. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong, Jack. You should blame me for all of it. You _never_ did anything wrong."

"Like hell I didn't. I should have listened to Hannah. Instead I tried to get the truth out of you myself and played right into your hands. You didn't drug me this time, did you?" he cruelly asked, lifting his nearly-empty glass.

"You gave me an hour to prepare last time. Today, I didn't have anything that would have worked on you." She leaned close and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I save those tricks for the turians at work, now."

"I can't even tell if you're joking or serious," he said, hearing more than a hint of disgust in his tone.

Valor smiled at him. "Good. Thank you for lunch, Jack. I can't imagine what this," she paused as she slid the box he'd given her toward him, "means to you and I can't accept it. The gesture is appreciated," she said before standing and walking away.

"Val, stop," he called, half rising. His shout stopped her in her tracks. "I have something else for you, and it's not something I can offer twice. I fought David over which of us would give it to you. Probably should have let him win."

"Oh?" she said, turning and crossing her arms over her chest.

"This," he said, pulling a heavy envelope with a holo-seal on one side and her name– her full name– in elegant handwriting on the other. "You have thirty Citadel standard days to present yourself."

"What is this?" she asked, coming back to the table to take the envelope. She turned it over in her hands and studied it, a small scowl on her face.

"Time to finish your training, Val," he stated.

She glared at him, "Now? There's so much I have to do. Thirty days is too soon."

He shrugged. "I guess having an N4 sentinel for a daughter is more than most men can hope for. Of course, I always thought you had a bit more than that in you, but indefinite hiatus isn't the worst end the Villa has to offer. Not sure you'd make it all the way, anyway, you can't shoot for shit so where's your combat ability?"

"I didn't take a hiatus, Jack," she argued, ignoring the barb about her marksmanship. "I got orders to report here as a warrant officer right after my last round of testing."

He tried not to smile. Valor was a ruthless, shameless little bitch, but as manipulative and cunning as she was, she still missed some things. He shoved the box he'd given her back toward her. "Take it. I've meant for you to have it since you were born. Hannah never would have given me a chance, so I thought I'd give it to you when you enlisted, but obviously that didn't go as anyone planned, either... please take it," he said, standing to leave. "Anderson has some parting orders for you from Alliance Command before you leave the Citadel, assuming you answer that summons. Get in touch with him if you decide you're going back to Rio." He swiped a credit chit at the table's waiter kiosk and turned to leave.

This meeting hadn't gone how he'd hoped, but it was more or less what he expected. Of course Valor was angry, of course she felt like lashing out at him. The last time he'd seen her in person, he had been delivering her to an inpatient mental re-adjustment program. And he still couldn't decide whether that had been the right move or not. She'd circumvented the program, and clearly she had found a way to control herself and become a civilized, productive member of society, but it was equally obvious that she was not like other people.

If she didn't report for the next set of courses and trials, he wouldn't see her again. Even if she did, he might not. He had finally worked up the guts to tell David close to the whole story. Like a coward, he'd left some details out, but all the information was there, because with her talents and training, someone like Valor _had_ to be loyal– not to be too dramatic– for the sake of humanity. She had to be tested, and he didn't trust anyone but Anderson to do it, and if necessary, end the threat she posed.

* * *

Saren impatiently tapped his talons against the console. He wouldn't leave a message– _why_ wouldn't Nihlus answer? Angrily, he ended the call attempt. He knew this would be a waste of time. The urgency he initially felt that drove him to detour, to leave his _ship_, in order to find the other Spectre no longer seemed justified. He'd been away too long already and he still had to report to the Council on the Citadel– _in person_– for what they were calling routine loyalty and psychological health evaluations. It was a good time to resupply, but he was apprehensive about the timing.

He called again– one last attempt, and this time, Nihlus answered within seconds. Saren verified that the connection was encrypted and opened the line. Nihlus's familiar face appeared on the holo-screen.

"Saren, I wondered if that was you. You know, if you want people to pick up, you should tell them who's calling. I would have answered the first time if I'd known."

"You answered anyway. The argument is invalid," he contended in clipped tones. He wanted to cut the transmission and hit the relay almost as much as he wanted to stay away from his ship as long as possible. He carefully controlled his expression so Nihlus wouldn't see the conflict.

"I'm surprised to hear from you, Saren," his former student said when it became clear Saren wasn't going to continue.

"You shouldn't be, we're long overdue. I heard that you might be on Omega, so I thought I'd try to contact you on my way through back to the Citadel. It seems they're calling everyone in for psychological evaluation and something they call loyalty testing. Loyalty to what, I wonder."

"It's a formality," Nihlus said, flicking his talons. "They know that any one of us could easily subvert their testing one way or another, but a salarian agent went rogue recently and this is the Council's way of absolving itself of responsibility if that should happen again."

"Typical," Saren snorted. In all the years he had served the Council, the galaxy's leaders had only become more cowardly and conniving. Attempting to dodge responsibility was one of their oldest tricks. "Has your business here concluded?" he asked abruptly, wanting to get on with it.

"Nearly," Nihlus confirmed. "I should see Aria before I leave, but I have something she wants, so I don't think she'll keep me waiting. Don't know how long she'll keep me, though," Nihlus's expression grew smug and Saren couldn't entirely suppress his disgust. He _really_ didn't want his suspicions confirmed. Aria was trash– dregs of the galaxy. He couldn't imagine what Nihlus saw in her. "Want to meet at Afterlife?" Nihlus offered. "I can ping you when I'm done."

"I'm not in the mood for a brawl or for dealing with Aria's imperious attitude. I'll send you docking coordinates."

"So I finally get to see your ship?" Nihlus casually asked.

Saren tensed. How did Nihlus know about that? Then he realized it was probably a ploy– Nihlus _didn't_ know, he was guessing. "You've seen it dozens of times," he dismissed.

"No, your _real_ ship, not the scrap you putter around in when people are watching."

Not a ploy. He'd have to figure out where Nihlus got his information and cut off the source. "Then the answer is no, you don't get to. Finish with Aria and get out here."

"Patient as ever," Nihlus muttered, though his mandibles were high with amusement. The transmission ended and Saren suddenly wondered what had possessed him to seek his fellow Spectre's company.

_Why _Nihlus_? He can't get pulled into this,_ he urgently thought, unable to pinpoint the cause of his sudden alarm. He thought about it for a moment. Who better? He had trained Nihlus himself and beyond camaraderie forged by facing shared dangers and battlefield-born trust, there was an unmistakable bond of loyalty between them._ We'll see,_ he promised the insistent part of him that wanted to bring Nihlus in completely.

Saren busied himself with replacing a faulty back-up capacitor in the ship's shielding systems. Nihlus was right about the condition of this vessel. Normally, he'd feel contempt for piloting such a hunk of scrap, but as drawn as he was to _his_ ship, there was always a nagging, scrabbling, desperate need for him to return to this one. That part of him dreaded the time when he no longer had to keep his ship hidden.

The time passed quickly, and the proximity alert activated just as he finished fitting the access panel back into its place. He hurried to deactivate security measures and accepted Nihlus's docking corridor. The moment it locked, he slaved his ship's controls to Nihlus's and headed for the airlock. He didn't need Nihlus seeing this place. The other Spectre was too clever and too curious. And he probably had a better supply of alcohol, anyway.

"Saren," Nihlus rigidly greeted him. "It's good to see you," he said, offering a bottle of ale brewed on Taetrus. He didn't recognize the brand, but he recognized the colony's insignia. He accepted the bottle and reached out to clasp Nihlus's forearm. The gesture was returned.

"It's been a long time," Saren said, following Nihlus deeper into the ship. "What brings you to Omega?"

"Questioning a person of interest. Councilor Sparatus seems intent on ignoring the most likely source of his frustrations, but I guess that's what happens when emotions start getting involved."

"He's taken a mistress?" Saren guessed. He knew Nihlus well enough to decode the subtleties of the other turian's carefully controlled subharmonics. He had missed this kind of effortless communication between equals. There was no political maneuvering, no schemes of galactic consequence, and if secrets were to be gleaned or kept, at least the person he had to manage was a friend and not an enemy.

Nihlus grunted and flicked his wrist, "For once, I believe your hasty conclusions are correct. He hasn't admitted as much, but it's fairly obvious."

"A threat to a Councilor is a threat to galactic stability," he said. It was a clear fact. Why hadn't Nihlus acted? "You should have taken care of her if you're so certain she's a problem," he chastised.

Nihlus's mandibles rose and he flicked his talons, "The Councilor ordered me to leave her alone. Besides, the political implications mortify him. It won't last– she's human."

Sparatus shook his head and flicked his mandibles twice. Degenerate humans, insinuating themselves _everywhere_, especially where they were neither welcome nor needed. His talons grated against the cold steel bottle in his hand. The sooner he could correct the mistake that was humanity, the better for all. "That's difficult to believe," he muttered, realizing he hadn't spoken yet and that Nihlus was watching him very closely. "I always thought Sparatus had more sense. It's not a surprise that involving himself with a human has backfired."

"To be honest, I can't tell if it's her, yet," Nihlus commented. "She was involved in an unusual incident which linked her to the hacker I just questioned. A hacker who was almost certainly partially responsible for digital attacks on the Councilor, and possibly involved in the theft of some of his property. It's entirely possible the Councilor was targeted by this hacker as a way to implicate her and nothing more. The kid had reason to want revenge against her so maybe it was just unfortunate timing."

"That's quite a muddle," Saren said. That was too mild a word, but he was getting far too worked up about this. He carefully adjusted his grip on his untasted beer, not wanting to puncture or warp the bottle. Nihlus's eyes had already flicked to his talons more than once. He _needed_ to calm down. "You weren't able to pull the truth out of the hacker? You must be slipping, Nihlus," he taunted, hoping to deflect the other Spectre's attention.

"I'm not sure he knows the truth," Nihlus defended. "It also seems that the Blue Suns have given him some counter-interrogation training. When I turned up the pressure, he resisted answering questions he had freely responded to earlier."

"Unusual reaction," Saren remarked, wondering whether Nihlus was being deliberately vague, or if he considered the subject unimportant. Since the first day of training with Saren, Nihlus had never held back. Why now? Did he suspect something?

"Very unusual," Nihlus agreed. "And at first he seemed to be cooperating, but now I wonder if I underestimated him. I need to ask more questions before I can put it all together."

"Did you get any evidence, or are you relying solely upon the results of your interview?" Saren asked. Nihlus had always relied too much on _information_.

"I pulled a copy of his bluewire's use log," Nihlus said. "It seems to point to him as the responsible party. Him and _no-one_ else, which doesn't explain how he physically removed items from the Councilor's home. But enough about that. I've got half a case of this stuff," he said, holding up the bottle in his hand, "and I don't have any export or customs paperwork."

"I think I can help you do something about that," Saren said, taking a long pull from his ale and banishing thoughts of humans and the work Spectres did. It had been a too long since he'd spent his time like this and he couldn't remember when he'd felt this optimistic.

* * *

Valor dropped the key to his car on the desk. Garrus didn't look up.

"Thank you, Garrus. That was extremely helpful," Shepard said, setting a wooden box and an unopened paper envelope on her desk.

"Is that your birthday present?" he asked, flicking a mandible toward the box.

"It's not my birthday. Family heirloom," she said, working the catch and opening the lid. "See? It's just a replica, but it was Jack's great-grandfather's, so it's still an antique."

"Nice. Assuming that thing works. The knife's not bad, either. May I?"

Shepard shrugged and took a seat at her desk. "No decision on the bust?"

"I said I'd let you know if word came down," he reminded her, scanning the knife in his hands. He idly evaluated the composition of the blade as the stats scrolled over his visor display. It was a decent weapon, though it looked like the sheath could use some care.

"I'm sorry for ordering you around earlier. Thanks for not making a scene about it," Valor quietly said.

He flicked his talons, "You were just telling me to do what I already had in mind, and you're always snapping orders, Shepard."

"So, why did you let me use your car, Vakarian?" Shepard asked, watching him.

"What are partners for?" he said, wishing she'd let it go. He put the knife back in its place and lifted the gun and the accompanying speed-loader. He knew nothing about antique human firearms, but it only took a few moments– and a detailed scan– to figure it out. "Maybe we should take this over to the firing range and see if it's still in working order. An old piece like this is pretty special. Hope you have specs to fabricate the ammo." He carefully placed each piece back in the box and closed it. Maybe Shepard would let him fire it next time they went to the range, but it wasn't worth pressing her about.

"Of course. Come on, Garrus. Why did you lend me your car?"

"You called Jack 'sir' the first time you saw him." He didn't want to talk about this, but he'd been thinking a lot about how he interacted with her when she had questioned his treatment of her. Seeing her tense up when she recognized her father and hearing how she addressed him broke him out of his routine of seeing her as a suspect. He could sympathize and get angry about what he knew she'd been through, but this was something he could _identify _with. He recognized it and he wanted to make sure she understood that.

"I was being respectful," she said with a flick of her wrist. She wanted him to let it go, but she was the one who insisted they talk about this, so she could deal with it.

"Hardly, Valor," he argued with confidence. "I _know_ what that was. My father and I aren't on great terms either. I thought you could use a little support."

Shepard scrutinized him for a moment, but her intent expression softened. "Well, you were right. Thank you."

"So, did he forgive you?" Garrus asked. The question made her freeze and he knew he'd hit a nerve.

"What?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"You said you did something a long time ago that he still hasn't forgiven you for," Garrus explained. "I thought since he showed up to see you, it might mean something had changed."

"He and I will never get past that," she firmly stated. "What did you say to him before I got here?" she asked, a hard edge in her voice.

"Oh, you know, I broke the ice with a little Relay 314 Incident joke. I always use it on humans– the older military types especially– since it's the one thing we turians have in common with your species, even though you insist on dramatizing it by calling it 'the First Contact War.' Then I told him how much I appreciate your oral dexterity and overall flexibility."

Valor raised an eyebrow and he could tell she was trying hard not to smile– maybe even laugh. "You didn't. He'd have thrown a punch if you had said any of that to him, especially joking about the war."

"You're right," Garrus admitted, rolling his head. Seeing Valor laugh always felt good. Her rare genuine smiles were almost as good. "I'm always tempted to, though. If our people can't get over that, how can we expect to avoid hostility in the future?"

"That war was just an indicator of very different and incompatible cultures," Valor countered, her humor vanishing.

"Maybe on a large scale," Garrus conceded, "but look at you and I– we have our differences, but we're a good team, and even though you're an arrogant, upstart human, I think I like you better than most of the turians I know."

"Oh, stop, I'll blush," Valor said. He was pretty sure she was being sarcastic. His visor said she was cool and calm, not flustered in the least. Well, he knew how to change that.

He reached out to grasp her hand and gently pulled her closer to him. "What's it going to take for me to get back on your good side, Valor?" he asked, his voice low. If she could hear and understand it, his subharmonics communicated his sincerity. He didn't like fighting with her, even when he was probably completely justified.

"Keep treating me like a person instead of a suspect," she said, leaning toward him a little.

"Okay. I promise," he said, resting his forehead against hers. A concerned friend or lover would still be curious about her background, though, right? He could keep that promise.

* * *

A/N: Feel like reviewing? I know I'm doing some pretty unorthodox things with this story and I'd really enjoy hearing what others think of it. Good or bad, a review is better than silence.


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